What Was Will Never Be
by thinktink2
Summary: It's 10 years later, and nothing is like what anybody remembered. How do you make your dad and your best friend fit into a life you thought they'd never be a part of again? And how do you fit into theirs? AU
1. Chapter 1

AN: Yes, it's a little different than before if you were quick enough to read the first posting of this. See what I mean by rough? Yikes. I posted an older version of this story before I went through some plot edits.

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"I know it's got to be here somewhere."

"What?" Henry asked, walking in the middle, craning his head to look at the rooms as they passed by.

"What are we looking for?" Shawn spoke up tiredly. He was already tired from three weeks of hell at work, and now this whole baby situation was starting to tickle at his anxiety. There was no way he could maintain his cover and still be involved in this. He wasn't sure how exactly he got roped into meeting Gus at the hospital. But Gus had sounded so excited, nervous, and giddy on the phone, and Shawn had found himself helpless to refuse. Now that he was here though, down this hall, a once familiar, painful walk…_five more doors and he would make a left and two more after that a right, and find himself in the NICU, waiting, and hoping, and praying…_

"The pre-delivery rooms. Bonnie's in room 309," Gus interjected, pulling Shawn from his thoughts.

"309 is over this way. On the other side of the NICU, off the Johnson wing." Shawn replied, trailing behind with his hands in his back pockets. Occasionally his forearm brushed against the handle of his Sig Sauer hidden against the small of his back, underneath his striped button down shirt, as he walked. He idly wondered how something he used to disdain now provided a sense of comfort and security. He grew up around guns. His father was a cop, for chrissakes. But as much as he was around them, he had never got use to them. When his father retired and hung up the badge, Shawn was glad to see the gun permanently holstered as well.

He grinned to himself sardonically. Now he couldn't stand to have his gun out of reach—and hated himself for it. Not enough to quit, though.

He jerked to a halt, his peripheral vision furiously hammering on his neurons as they suddenly registered his two companions had come to an abrupt halt as well and were now both shooting him curious looks.

"What?"

"How do you know that?"

"Well, I…read if off the sign, Gus. It's right there." He pointed down the hall to a directory sign, indicating, sure enough that rooms 305-325 were to the left. Unfortunately he would have to pass through the NICU to get to them. His wife had stayed in rooms 306, and 317…but the last baby had found her in critical care, recovering from a gun shot wound to the abdomen and an emergency C-section.

And Shawn had found himself wearing a path between the two departments, worrying over a wife and baby girl born so early it could barely survive.

But she did, he reminded himself. She was now every bit as healthy and beautiful as her mother, who had made a full recovery herself.

He pulled himself back to the present where both his father and …friend… had turned to look at the sign. Gus merely uttered an "Oh" of comprehension, while his dad swiveled his head to scrutinize the son he hadn't seen in 10 years. Something was off, and he knew his Dad well enough to know he sensed it. Without waiting for further debate, Shawn motioned to follow his anxious friend, and Henry, with another steely-eyed squint acquiesced.

Fatherhood.

Well, Gus was in for a wild ride that was for sure. At least he wasn't coming home from an assignment to find a two year old baby boy with his eyes and nose and his mother's hair and lips. Thrust into parenting a child he hadn't even known existed. And then two years later, a father to another little boy bearing the Spencer name, and two years after that…

"Where—"

"Take a right," Shawn shot out, hardly thinking as he navigated through the bright, shiny corridor with ease. He barely registered another look cast his way from his father.

He'd been happy, though, shocked as he was to find little James Henry Spencer smiling shyly up at him. Mesmerized. And choked with emotion. After all the screw ups—the biggest one leaving the mother of his child alone and pregnant—although neither had known she would wind up pregnant after that one night—he couldn't believe that something so beautiful, so _perfect_ could have ever come from him. Jamie was his pride and joy, and he had been eager to replicate the feeling when he and his then/now wife had spent nearly a year trying before they had become pregnant with his second son, Michael.

Michael, not Jamie, proved to be the exception to childbearing. They had become immediately and unexpectedly pregnant with a third child not long after they resumed nocturnal activities. The timing couldn't had been worse—he was just getting ass-deep in his assignment, but Jules had been so happy despite the timing, and he felt himself pulled in by her enthusiasm, unable to argue the fact that the two children they had produced before represented the best of both parents, and why should this one be any different.

He swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat as he vividly recalled just how different everything about little Hannah Elizabeth Spencer's coming-to-be was compared to her brothers'.

She was worth it, though.

But, he had been hesitant to go through the process again. In fact, after three children he had been more than ready to call their family complete. Two boys, one girl, 8, 4, & 2. Perfect. As the months passed since Hannah's birth he settled more into that precept. And now his wife had told him they were pregnant again, due to have another Spencer come into the world in approximately five and a half months.

It was the first time, though, where he had had serious trouble conjuring a ready smile at the news. Even Jules seemed a bit hesitant at sharing their coming joy, whether from his reaction or from her own doubts and insecurities. Hannah's traumatic birth had left them both with scars. It didn't help that he was once again ass-deep in an assignment that would undoubtedly wind up with him in the hospital, either from his accursed leg, or some other new injury. But if something happened to Jules…the baby…or one of the kids…

This was getting too hard.

And what he did was too damn dangerous.

It was too risky with a family.

But it paid well, and he was able to comfortably support a wife and three, soon to be four, children.

And wasn't that all that mattered?

Sure some days he hated his job. Hated his life, except for Jules and the kids. He had almost been out. One more job and he could've found something else—something safer, maybe, and that kept him home more often, for longer periods of time. Maybe even something 8-5, Monday through Friday.

But there was no denying he was damn good at his job. One of the few who could do it well. And he took a little pride in that. He had had to sacrifice a lot, but at the time he hadn't had cared. His dad and best friend were gone—dead, he had thought, and had been lead to think for almost ten years before learning the truth. He wasn't involved with Jules yet—that didn't come until two years –and one hot night of agonizingly good sex (so good it came with a souvenir nine months down the road)—later.

They had put him through training, and school. A four year degree in criminology—and later, when Michael had been still developing in his mother's womb, a masters in criminal justice. Those were two things he'd never thought he'd be in possession of. He had earned the first degree in a little over two years. He wasn't dumb after all—all his teachers, friends, and parents had said if he only applied himself in high school he would have graduated in the top of his class—that and actually show up for class. After his dad and Gus had died…"died"… he corrected mentally, he had found his motivation in revenge. Not the most original source of motivation, but an effective one as well. He had found the job that would allow him to take a little back of what had been ripped from him, and for once he had been willing, without argument, to do whatever it took to meet that end. Even if it meant enrolling in an institution of higher learning. The master's had come when he had argued that pursuing it would help him to perform his job better. And it would help him stay around Jules and Michael, whom she was pregnant with at the time, while he earned it.

Had either degree helped him in any way? No, he could have still done the job without it—that's how he had landed it initially. Both were just a formality, really, as far as he was concerned. His employer had seemed to think they were necessary.

And the job had been fun. Well, maybe not fun…well, yes, fun, he amended, because he hadn't cared whether or not he lived or died from one assignment to the next. He constantly put his life in danger because beating the bad guys had always been fun, no matter what the cost, and he wasn't living for anyone anymore anyway. And by the time he had become an instant family man he was in too deep to just up and leave it.

Plus he had needed the job. He had to show Jules he had some sort of steady paying job, some sort of steady life, otherwise she might not have ever let him around his son. Well, maybe she would have, but convincing her they belonged together, and that they could make a life together would have been much harder if he hadn't had the means to support both her and their son. Like, the house he bought, and the new car. Not that she was the type to be impressed by big expensive gifts. But they had needed the house—her apartment was much too small for two of them, much less the three of them he was hoping to make, and Jules' car had seen it last good day sometime in August of 2003. Jules and Jamie had been making ends meet, but it was obvious to him that she had been struggling at times on her civil servant salary to support a baby.

But he was sincere about wanting to be a family. Be a father and a husband…although it took an inordinate amount of time to convince her to make it official. And why he was so hell bent on making it official after they had already had a child together, he didn't know, but he was adamant that they be married before they had a second one.

She had finally given in, though Shawn knew that her hesitation had less to do with her so called disseverment of the institution of marriage, and more with the doubts she obviously had about his commitment to a life together she couldn't possibly ever see him wanting to settle down into.

With exception to either of their jobs, their life together was horribly banal. They argued about money, they shared in the childrearing, taking turns picking up or dropping off their children at school or daycare. They went to Jamie's little league games, soccer games, and Michael's preschool pageant and grinned like the proud parents they were. Given the opportunity, Shawn was just as capable as his wife at boring some innocent bystander with whatever activity Hannah had just accomplished, what Michael had said at the breakfast table that had made him laugh with a memory of how he had thought the same thing when he was younger, or how Jamie had been so excited to hit his first homerun, even if it was in practice.

Yes, their life was practically a scene out of the Seaver's when he was home.

Unfortunately, he was rarely ever home. The year and a half he had spent earning a Master's degree had been the longest he had ever been with his family at one stretch—and he had taken his time on the coursework specifically so he could be there for the pregnancy and the birth, both of which he had missed with his first child. Prior to that, after the discovery of one little James Henry Spencer's existence, he had managed to spend about a month getting to know his son, before he started on an assignment that took him away for two weeks. He had been home again 

for another two weeks before he had had to leave his baby boy while work took him away again, this time across the hemisphere into South America. By the time he had returned three weeks later, he was sure his only son had forgotten he had ever had a father, and Jules, who was already skeptical about his commitment to his child and to her, had decided to cut him out of their lives completely.

But neither had, and so began a cautious, but intense, courtship between Shawn and Juliet. He had tried to work out his assignments so that he was home for longer stretches of time, sometimes two or even three months, but it was extremely difficult, and even if he managed to spend more time at home, often times that meant he spent more time away. He found it excruciating. He tried to keep his mind off of Jules and the baby while he was working, but the thought that she might just say forget it, that it would never work between them, with her demanding schedule and his crazy job that she knew almost nothing about, plagued him constantly and he half expected to find mother and child gone every time he came home.

Instead he generally found a relieved and smiling Jules, and a little boy overjoyed at sharing with his father all the things he had learned or done while he was away. So it was with each additional child as his family grew.

Personally he was rather fond of his little welcoming committee. And the welcome home sex he was especially fond of.

He missed them terribly. He hadn't seen Jules or the kids in five weeks. He was back in the area, but he rarely went home until a case was finished. He didn't want to risk blowing his cover and putting his family in danger, both very real outcomes if he didn't toe a very cautious line.

So he stayed in L.A., in a crappy one room apartment while he worked steadily to tie up a case so that he could go home and forget about everything he had done and just concentrate on being a father to his children and a husband to his wife.

He had talked to Juliet three days ago, when he had first got back to his office in L.A. He never told her where he was when he called, and she had long ago stopped asking, but they both knew anytime _he_ initiated the phone call, he was close by, and the case was close to being wrapped up. She had sounded tired, and he had felt the first pang of worry as he reflected on her condition. He hadn't asked if everything was all right with the baby, and she hadn't said that anything was wrong. He hoped it was just simple fatigue, the usual tiredness that came when she was expecting. He idly recalled that she had been working a robbery case for the last two weeks, trying to carefully piece together the evidence. And hadn't she mentioned something about a stakeout? He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face—usually he paid better attention. Yes, there had definitely been a stakeout, he was sure of it. He hoped she wasn't overworking herself. He'd have to remind her to take it easy, for her sake and the baby's.

He nodded absentmindedly at a pedes nurse that passed by, registering the wild, colorful print of her tunic, giraffes, tigers, and panda bears all competing for dominance. They were almost to the NICU, and he felt his stomach tighten when a familiar face ducked out of one of the offices.

Sarah O'Connell. She had been one of Hannah's nurses, a familiar face forever residing it seemed in the NICU, watching over the tiny bodies that required the constant, extra special care. He had seen her face a lot over those six weeks—nearly every day. And they had gotten to know each other pretty well. And she would most certainly recognize him, even after two years, of that he was scarily certain.

She too, possessed a keen memory, and she had taken an extra special interest in his daughter's case. She would remember him, and worse yet, she would say something to him—and he hadn't told his dad, and best friend yet that he was even married, much less that he had three children, one of which had spent quite a bit of time in this very hospital ward.

This was going to be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

Forgot to issue the standard disclaimer for all fanfiction: I do not own psych or its characters. Unfortunately.

Other clues that it has been too long since I have posted fanfiction (over 3 years in fact). For the past three days I have been wondering why this story wouldn't show up on the main page of the psych fanfic. Wondering so hard, in fact, that I deleted and reposted the story.

Come to find out, I had the psych fanfic page to display only the K-T rated stories. I rated mine M. So...yeah...that's why it wasn't showing. Geez. I know, there is no hope for me is there.

I suppose it might qualify for a T rating, there's really only language and one suggested scene, but I don't want to be responsible for scandalizing anyone. So I'll leave it stand for now...

Anyway.

Without further adieu, chapter two.

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"Hey Shawn!"

Yup, she recognized him.

He slowed to a stop, glancing at his companions, as they too paused to consider the young woman smiling before him. Gus shifted impatiently, dismissing her immediately as it was obvious he was still anxious to find the whereabouts of his wife.

Which….could work in his favor, Shawn realized.

He gave a nod of encouragement, hoping that Gus would take the hint and continue on without him.

Score.

Gus nodded his thanks and hurried on, while Henry lingered, unsure of whether he should be on hand to soothe a nervous expectant father, or wait on the son that seemed determined to make sure he was never alone with either of the two people once closest to him.

"Go on ahead; I'll just be a few minutes." Shawn added, risking a glance at Sarah, who, after opening her mouth to say something, paused and turned as well to consider the older man behind her. They both scrutinized one another, Henry's sharp gaze noting the pink scrubs she wore while Sarah let her eyes rest on the sharp angles of his face. She turned curiously back to Shawn who ignored her, as he reinforced his suggestion. "I'll catch up."

Henry turned, the sound of a disbelieving snort faintly reaching Shawn's ears, and hurried to catch up with Gus.

"Hey, Sarah," Shawn said, giving a pained smile to his companion.

"Hey yourself," she replied with a grin. "How's that baby?"

"Good, she's good. Almost two, and going through her terrible stage, you know?" He replied, the smile easing into something more natural as he thought about his daughter.

"God, two? I can't believe it. It doesn't seem like it's been that long, does it?"

"No," he agreed quietly thinking how easily the images and feelings of hopelessness and despair came back to him. How the memory of being locked by Hannah's side, as she lay clinging precariously to life in her incubator, breathing tube aiding underdeveloped lungs, her impossibly small body pale and so still. Michael had been a restless baby, pink arms and legs always working to escape the folds of his baby blanket. Jamie, too, had inherited his father's boundless energy, but this baby…hardly seemed real…hardly seemed his, so quiet and still.

Now, two years later, she was definitely a product of the Spencer line. Vivacious, always smiling and laughing, and _loud_, Hannah had definitely inherited the traits that had once defined Shawn Spencer.

Each child owned a piece of him. Michael, rambunctious, fearless, and determined was most like Shawn had been as a child, but it was difficult to say physically which of his parents he most resembled. Jules, he supposed. They shared the same jawline and eye-color. Otherwise, Michael's resemblance to his parents was not as stark as Jamie's or Hannah's.

Jamie looked like his father, but fortunately, physical attributes were all he seemed to have inherited. He tended to be quieter than the other two, more responsible, sweet-natured and irresistible like his mother. Where he inherited much of his personality came from Jules. Jamie could be rambunctious like his brother at times, and generally the times the boys were playing together showed that boys could still be boys, but he set himself apart from the rest of his siblings by being the quiet, sweet, sensible child of the Spencer clan.

Hannah had inherited every defining feature of her mother, except for the brown hair and green eyes she inherited from her dad. She was without a doubt, a daddy's girl. He tended to spoil her, much to Jules' exasperation, and because of it, Hannah demanded as much of her father's attention as she could get. She could be sweet and shy and undeniably charming, and the next minute screaming and crying and stamping her little feet in protest, working said beautiful green eyes to twist her daddy tightly around her stubby little finger. She had definitely inherited the gene that allowed to her charm and con everyone around her easily.

Because, he was a bit chagrined to say that he was indeed tightly wrapped around said finger.

"How is Juliet?" Sarah's voice broke in, pulling his thoughts away from the children he was missing. "She keeping your brood in line?"

"Oh, yeah, she's got plenty of experience after handling me and her partner. The kids don't dare get on her bad side." And those that did just handily charmed their way out of it generally, like they had seen their father do a hundred times with their mother. Spencers knew how to work it.

"We're expecting another one," Shawn confided, unsure why he was bringing the subject up. He still wasn't sure how he felt about another baby, so he had been careful not discuss the matter, lest he appear less than enthusiastic about the news. And it wasn't that he was upset they were expecting, it was just...

So unexpected.

"Congratulations!" Sarah gushed, mouth widening into bright grin full of perfectly straight teeth.

"Thanks," Shawn muttered, wondering how to get them off this topic now that he had introduced it.

"When's the baby due?"

"Five months, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Five months, one week, and six days, give or take a week or two in case of inaccurate calculations of the due date."

"You must be pretty excited," she remarked watching him carefully. Shawn was struck once again by her astuteness. It was this ability combined with the silent support she radiated that made her so damn easy to talk to sometimes.

He shrugged, knowing that Sarah took careful note of the less than enthusiastic response. "Yeah. It's...it's been a while since I've seen her. I've been tied up at work, big international assignment."

Sarah nodded in understanding, even though, despite the circumstances that brought them into each others lives, Sarah knew next to nothing about what he did. She knew Juliet Spencer was a cop for the SBPD, and she knew that Hannah's premature birth was due to a drug bust gone wrong. Problem was, it was Shawn's bust, and Juliet, even though tasked to the mission since the bust was occurring in Santa Barbara, had been caught in the literal crossfire.

It served as an extremely painful reminder to Shawn of what could go wrong if you didn't toe that very careful line.

That wasn't to say Sarah O'Connell didn't have a clue. Her question, seemingly directed for his wife, still managed to sound like it was meant for him.

"Is she still working for the SBPD?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, shoving his hands in his front pockets and rocking back on his heels. "She's on a case right now."

"Is she doing all right?"

Again Shawn shrugged. "She sounded tired when I last talked to her."

"Yeah, pregnancy zaps your energy," Sarah agreed. "I'm sure she's being careful," she added with her usual perceptiveness. "Taking the right precautions to protect the baby."

Maybe that was the crux of it. Because Juliet should have never been there at that bust in her condition. She should have been tied to her desk, filing, or working dispatch, working the scenes from the station, from her computer, her phone, anywhere but in the field. It had been a stupid risk to take and she had almost paid for it her and their baby's lives.

Shawn just nodded. "How's your little monster?"

Sarah grinned again. "Want to see her picture?"

Shawn glanced down the hall where his father and Gus had disappeared to, debating.

Sarah followed his gaze, brow furrowing briefly, before smoothing out. "Was that your dad?"

He nodded.

"You look a lot like him." At the dirty look he gave her, she added, "Well, you do. Except for the hair. You still have quite a bit of yours."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry, do you need to get back with them. They seemed in a hurry."

"Oh, my friend, he's having a baby. His wife is here."

"Oh, congratulations to him. His first?"

"Yeah."

He wondered how long he had before his father would retrace his steps looking for him, wondering what the hold up was. Or when Gus would phone or text him, asking him to hurry the hell up. And he wondered, if they would even remember him at all. After so many years without him in their lives, that they would even default to him. And he vaguely wondered if they had as hard a time putting him into the forefront of their minds as he did, when Shawn could barely stand to unearth them from the back of his, after being buried there for so long.

At least with Sarah, he didn't have to pretend. He didn't have to ignore what happened two years ago--or worry about how he would work the topic in, when he had yet to explain to Gus and his father that he was married, and a father of three--and soon to be four--children. He didn't have to wonder if it was better off for everyone involved if he just didn't mention them, that it might be better after so many years of living without a father and a best friend that if to keep with the status quo.

He should have been happy.

He should have been ecstatic.

His father and his best friend--_NOT_, as it had been reported and lamented, dead. They were alive. Had been after all this time. Under protection, living another life, another lie somewhere far away from him for ten years. Alive.

He should have been overjoyed.

He was numb. And angry. And confused. And mostly...he was just numb. And he was unprepared for how conflicted he felt when he had finally heard the truth.

He had been living a lie, too. A lie brought about by their deception. A lie he felt comfortable in. Because everything Shawn Spencer had once stood for seemed to have been tossed by the wayside when they had put his father and best friend into the ground. The beliefs morphed to their present incarnation, the current Shawn Spencer who possessed two college degrees, and not one but two nine millimeter semi-automatic pistols.

And after ten years, that Shawn Spencer believed the lie.

After ten years he had finally accepted that no one was waiting impatiently, foot tapping, arms crossed over their chest, for him to walk down a hall to join them.

So, with a decisive nod he answered her question, "Yeah, let's see her."

With a gesture indicating she should precede him, he followed Sarah to the nurses station, and settled in for a long description of little Mila O'Connell's latest acts of hedonism.

Reviews are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

He finally caught up to his party forty-five minutes later, encountering his father less than halfway to his destination. Shawn ignored him as his father turned and fell into step with him.

"We were wondering if you'd forgotten about us." _We were wondering if you took the opportunity to bolt like we all expect you to, _was what Shawn read clearly between the lines. He ignored the silent jab and stepped into the room to find exactly what he expected Gus to be doing: fawning and fretting over his pregnant wife and soon to be born baby.

Gus's pregnant wife didn't look exactly thrilled with the attention, either. In fact, if that wrinkled brow was any indication, as well as the pointed glares, and not so silent huffing, she was getting downright pissed.

Shawn could vaguely recall Jules wearing the same expression while in labor with Michael.

He'd only been trying to help. And he still didn't think it was necessary to berate him for ever touching her. After all, it had been a pretty consensual act. And it wasn't as though they had been trying _not _to get pregnant. And it had been really unnecessary to announce to the entire medical staff in their not even semi-close-to-private room that if he ever felt llike forgoing a condom with her again he could just go fuck himself.

In light of Jules' delicate condition, though, he had wisely kept these thoughts to himself. He only hoped Gus was just as smart when the labor pains started in earnest.

Both expectant parents, mother in particular, looked happy for the distraction his appearance provided.

Shawn deduced baby Guster was in no hurry to add his fretful cries to the mix.

He turned his attention to Gus' better half, carefully noting her pretty features as she unabashedly scrutinized him. She had very light skin, suggesting her jamaican heritage bore some european influence somewhere in her lineage. Her eyes were a sort of green color, lighter than Shawn's own, with straight, shoulder-length dark brown hair framing her face.

She had a simple platinum wedding band, surrounding a traditional round cut diamond engagement ring. On one wrist was her hospital arm band, on the other what appeared to be a silver--probably platinum setting--seiko watch with ten diamonds encrusted around the face. He made special note of the watch, mentally dumping it into the bin that contained what loose bits of information he had managed to gather about Gus' life lived without him.

She was an investment banker. She had worked at her place of business for ten years, as denoted by the diamonds, and had been quite successful, as denoted by the watch itself. It wasn't a Rolex, however, which meant the bank was part of a smaller chain rather than an international conglomerate, and while she was successful, her level of success in a bigger company would have been lesser.

He knew of only two banks that had given out these particular watches as recognition for service. One had been absorbed into a larger holding company, before it, too, was eventually dissolved, and the other still operated ten dozen or so branch locations all along the southern California coast.

He knew that because one of their employees had been a money launderer for a few key members of a drug cartel he had eventually brought down. And that employee had worn the same watch six years ago. Shawn remembered clearly the guy--Jack Carlito--looking at the watch before announcing "time's up."

And then he shot Shawn twice in his left leg.

It could have been worse. He could have hit the major artery there in his upper thigh. Fortunately, he had only dug the bullet deep into some muscle before hitting bone. The other passed through without inflicting any major damage. All things considered, his doctor had said, he had been fortunate.

Shawn distinctly remembered how _fortunate_ he felt lying there on the ground watching his own blood gather around him. And _fortunately_ he could now tell changes in the barometric pressure better than any meteorologist. He walked with a limp every time it rain.

That assignment sure had sucked.

He gave a slight shake of his head, and brought his thoughts back to the present. He didn't know why he was having such a hard time focusing--combination fatigue, nerves from the job, nerves from the present company, nerves from the situation looming at hand--he needed to focus. Even as he reminded himself of that fact, he was ever aware of the sharp eyes that never strayed from his face. His father clearly wasn't suffering from any of the ailments currently plaguing Shawn's mental abilities.

No doubt Henry was just waiting for the right opportunity to pounce in their little father/son cat and mouse game. And Shawn doubted he would be able to avoid any unpleasant conversations just because he had an audience. After six weeks, he was pretty sure his dad's patience had run out. If he couldn't get his son alone to get the answers he wanted, then he would just damn well take advantage of their audience, too.

And clearly Gus' wife shared the same objective as everybody else but Shawn in that room.

Bonnebelle, or Bonnie, as she insisted he call him (thank god--Bonnebelle?), temporarily improved in mood as she set about peeling back the layers of secrecy that she evidently thought he was shrouded in.

Well, okay, maybe it seemed like it was a bit secretive—but that was only because he had learned to keep his mouth shut, at great expense. He no longer volunteered information, especially personal information about himself or anything relating to himself (i.e. kids and Jules, work), but he could still be pretty chatty if he wanted to be.

He was a master at the verbal deflection after all. That gift hadn't been wasted in the ten years since he had last seen his father and Gus. He had had to talk his way out and around things more than once…a day.

So when she started asking the standard issue _who you are and what do you do_ he had a glib reply just ready to roll off his tongue.

"So you've known Gus since he was a kid?"

"Yup, quite a long time", he affirmed, swinging the leg perched over the corner of the bureau. He laced his fingers together and stared back with a patented easy-going, friendly smile.

"You must have quite a few stories," she ventured, smiling coyly at Gus who shook his head.

He heard his dad snort in agreement. "Most of them centered on _brilliant _ideas Shawn had."

He glared good-naturedly at his father, and kept the grin plastered on his face.

"Gus was a willing participant."

Gus chuckled and said, "I don't know about willing. I was coerced more than not."

Bonnie laughed too, as if she was in on the joke, and focused her attention once again on Shawn.

"So what do you do?"

Ah, the money question.

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that." He felt the gaze next to him sharpen exponentially.

"Gus said you guys used to work for the police."

"Yeah, a long time ago, we did."

"As a detective," she added.

"Psychic detective," Gus corrected. "Speaking of which, I went by the psych office—it's not there anymore. When did you give it up?"

"Oh, I don't know." _About two days after I found out you were dead. I gave everything up. Including the pretense I was psychic. Of course the vodka shooters I had been drinking for the ten hours prior to that probably contributed greatly to that revelation. Couldn't go back after that._

"Shortly after you di-disappeared," he amended, "I guess."

Gus nodded and looked down at the floor. "So…what are you doing now? You still help out the police? Lassiter said he doesn't see you as much anymore." That was true—he very rarely crossed paths with Lassie. The most he saw him now was when he stopped by the station to visit Jules. As far as sharing or working on the same cases…

Shawn scratched the back of his neck with one hand. "Yeah, on rare occasion I might help them out." Not a lie, he silently applauded. "Don't do as much with the SBPD as I used to."

"So what do you do?" This question came in the gruff tone of his father, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed his son suspiciously.

"Well, as I am a man of many talents there's—"

"You're almost 40, kid."

_Yes, believe me no one is more aware of that than me, dad._

"You're too old to be doing the same old crap you were doing twenty years ago…which you _were_ still doing ten years ago."

_I'm also too old to still be called kid, don't you think?_

"Is that really how you're still living your life, Shawn?" His dad straightened up, obviously getting into the lecture. "You're 40 years old and you still don't have a steady job, you're obviously not in a steady relationship—"

_Really? Are you?_ He wanted to jab back.

"—and you've haven't put down one single root anywhere have you? When are you going to realize that life is not some little game or some big joke?" Shawn felt his blood start to burn.

When was he going to realize? When was he going to _realize? _

He had realized. About ten fucking years ago, when some nice man from the DEA's office told him his father and best friend had been killed, thanks in large part to the case he and Gus had been working on for the SBPD. He slid off the bureau and faced his father, who was still ranting on about the obscene state of his son's life.

"—ing to settle down and get married? What about kids Shawn? Have you ever thought about having children? I'd like to have grandkids one day, you know."

"Are you kidding me with this crap?" Shawn cut in heatedly, unsure of where to even begin coming up with a retort to his dad's lunacy.

"No, Shawn, I think it would be kind of nice to be able to pass on some things to my granchilde, maybe show my future grandson some of the things I used to love to do."

"What, like 'How many hats?'" Shawn bit back. "He—" he stopped abruptly, mentally finishing his statement, _he already knows that one. I taught him that. I taught him that when I first realized my son and I could connect that way, when I realized my firstborn was as naturally curious and as observant as I had been. Jamie's a lot like you and I, dad. He notices things. I taught him the hat thing when I realized I couldn't let him go through life as oblivious as other children. Not with my job. Not with Jules'. It's just too dangerous. You probably realized that too, a long time ago, didn't you, when you first started teaching me that game. I understand it now, dad. I understand that even if you had never wanted me to be a cop, you couldn't let me go through life as disconnected from the real world as other children were. You knew. You knew the risks with what you did and how it might affect your family one day. Just so happened I was good at the hat game—and you saw my whole future as shaped and molded by you. But I'm not going to force them to be like me—they can be whatever they want. Actually the less like me they are the better. I don't want them doing this. I don't want them to be like me. Neither one of my boys._

"He—"Shawn said again, unsure of how to proceed. Gus' brow furrowed slowly in confusion at the stutter.

This was it, Shawn thought. Another opportunity to confess—_Guess what dad? You wanted grandchildren; you got 'em. Three of them. How's that for grandkids. And another one on the way. That should shut you up._

But Henry acted like he didn't even notice the hesitation.

"No, not just that. Fishing, and sailing, and building things together, and…and…and making memories with my grandchild. I'm not going to live forever, you know. I just want some grandchildren to pass some things important to me onto. Since you obviously could care less."

Shawn rolled his eyes. So this is what it got back to. What a big disappointment he was. And he had actually missed this shit? Once upon a time, he could remember wishing his dad was still alive, wishing they could argue one more time about his life, his job, his future. Obviously he had still been drinking quite a bit when he had made that wish.

"Fishing, dad? Really? What are you going to do, leave him the singing bass on the wall when you die?"

Henry huffed and shook his head. "No I would just like to be able to show my grandson, like I _tried_ to show my son, some of the things my dad, and my granddad, and I used to do together. And what you've always failed to realize, fishing is a great way to connect."

"Seriously? How do you connect? You just sit in a boat all day not talking, drinking beer, dad."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. I still want grandkids, Shawn. And in case you've missed it, kid, your reproduction window is closing. That means you need to settle down and get serious about figuring out your life. Find a nice girl and get married and have a family. Do you still plan on doing this whenever you're 50?"

"You don't even know what _this_ is!" He exploded.

"No? So why don't you tell me? Oh, _this and that_? Well, that's great Shawn. So what's _this_? Indian charmer? And _that_? Did you finally fulfill your lifelong dream to be a weatherman? Maybe you've graduated to manager of the local video mart. Wow. My son, the professional cassette rewinder."

"They're called DVDs, dad, and news flash, VCR tapes went out of style about twelve years ago. Why? Because you don't have to rewind them."

"Uh, excuse me—"a voice interjected timidly from across the room.

"Well, yay, for you," his dad continued, unheeded. "Found a low paying job with low stress and low expectations—will wonders never cease. Did you completely just throw away everything I ever taught you? I can't believe you wasted all that talent. You were born to be a detective, Shawn. You're not helping anybody, if you're not helping the police."

This was unbelievable. For a moment Shawn was absolutely speechless.

Dear God, he _had_ actually missed this. And weirdly enough, there was a part of him, a very small part, buried deep, deep down in the blackest corner of his mind that was overjoyed to be able to do this again. Yelling at his father. It felt like coming home. He wondered suspiciously if the reason why the old man was on such a roll was because he felt the same way.

He grinned, suddenly empowered by the idea. Henry scowled viciously.

"Oh, come on dad. You don't have to pick a fight. If you just wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask." Shawn held out his arms wide. Wiggling his fingers in a come here gesture, he continued. "Don't be shy. It's all right, nobody here but us men and Gus—"

"Hey!"

"—and Gus' wife. She doesn't mind, though, now does she?"

"Shawn! Put your arms down."

"Nope, nope, let's hug it out. You're feeling it, I'm feeling it, it would only feel right if we just—"

"The only thing you're going to be feeling is my foot up—"

"Good afternoon, everyone."

Both Shawn, arms still held out, and Henry swiveled around to look at the interruption. A middle-aged OB nurse in pink scrubs looked over the bed at the two Spencer men curiously. "I'm sorry, is this a bad time?"

"No," came the decidedly firm response from all occupants in the room. Shaking her head she pulled a stethoscope from around her neck and affixed it to her ears. Reaching behind her, she slapped a blood pressure cuff on Bonnie's arm and began taking her blood pressure.

Shawn put his arms down and retook his seat on the bureau, one leg swinging idly against the laminated wood.

"Your loss," he murmured, earning a glare from the other three. Shawn just grinned.

Damn, for a moment he felt just like his old self.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay. I have about sixty pages of this story rough written, and I have been trying to go back and flesh out the chapters and smooth out the prose, and overall flow in general. And it seems everytime I do that it comes out differently from its original incarnation. Chapter 5 is a prime example. Waaay different, and I'm on the third version of it. And it keeps going in a different direction. The spirits move in mysterious and often confounding ways, as Shawn would surely point out.

Anyway, here's chapter four, a bit shorter than the previous ones. Hope you will forgive me that slight.

P.S. Thank you for all the reviews and words of encouragement. They are much appreciated!

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After a few minutes his dad finally retook his seat as well, leaning up against the radiator underneath the window sill. Silently, both Spencer men watched as the nurse wrote down Bonnie's blood pressure results, fiddled with one of the machines next to the bed, and talked quietly with Gus and his wife.

Shawn tried not to listen, but old habits and training were hard to ignore, so he found himself studiously studying the pattern on the walls as he studiously eavesdropped. He could tell without looking that his dad was doing the same thing.

Contractions were more than ten minutes apart—that meant they had a while to go before the next generation Guster entered the world. Blood pressure was normal. Fetal heart rate normal. Mom's heart rate was normal. So far, everything was proceeding as it should, albeit slowly.

"Baby Guster is doing well," the nurse pronounced, and both Gus and Bonnie breathed out sighs of relief. Shawn bit the inside of his cheek at their expressions. He was hard pressed not to chuckle, recalling his own feelings of anxiety and expectation. Jules, seemingly a pro the second time around, wound up being his calm and steady influence, instead of the other way around.

He felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards, and Bonnie, back to scrutinizing him again, called him on it.

"What?"

Three sets of eyes fixed upon his face once more. Shawn shook his head slightly. "Nothing," he replied calmly, ignoring Gus' narrowed eyes.

"What's so funny?" Again Shawn shook his head, looking down at his shoelaces.

His dad, thankfully, saved him from further explanation. "Baby Guster? Have you guys decided on a name yet?"

"Well, actually, we have been kind of—"here Gus paused and looked at his wife, who nodded encouragingly with another glance at Shawn, who immediately stiffened in trepidation. This couldn't be good. "We were thinking…we'd like to…"

"Just spit it out Guster," Henry commanded.

"Well, we thought about naming the baby after Shawn."

"What?!"

Dear god, had that pathetically girly squeak come from him?

"It's just…you and I have been friends for such a long time, and I just, I just really missed you when…when…you know the last ten years and all…I just think…I mean, I really…"

"It would be such an honor if you would let us name the baby after you. Gus thinks so highly of you, and I've come to see you through his eyes, too. We'd be honored if you lend us your name," Bonnie pleaded.

Shawn looked away, staring down at the floor, working his jaw as he absently counted the number of lines in the tile. Name the baby after him? Christ, he and Jules hadn't even named any of their children after either of them. James Henry was the only child bestowed with a moniker that could be found in either of their immediate family lineage. Named in honor of Jules' recently deceased and beloved father, and Shawn's own deceased…and…well, he didn't think on closer review any of those terms applied to his own obviously alive, cantankerous, and infuriating father.

In fact, when it came to naming their children, Shawn had been adamant that they each have their own name. And if he had been there for Jamie's birth, he was pretty sure his firstborn would have wound up with a different name—no matter how perfect James Henry Spencer sounded to his ears.

"Uh, really. Shawn Guster, huh?" Ugh. That just sounded hideous no matter how noble the intent behind it. He thought he saw his dad shudder as well out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, we were thinking maybe as a middle name," Gus amended.

Oh.

"Oh, well, that could be—I mean—" Christ, what was he supposed to say in this situation? Not like he had a patent on the name Shawn. And besides, it was better than what he was thinking. Burying it in the middle—that could possibly work. "Well, what were you thinking about for a first name?"

"Bane." "Benson." Came the simultaneous replies.

Well, good, at least they were in agreement about that.

Both Bonnie and Gus turned to look at each other with identical looks of confusion. Out of the corner of Shawn's eye he saw his dad bite his lip and look down at his feet.

"Now, sweetheart, I thought we agreed we didn't like Benson."

"We agreed? You agreed. Benson is a perfectly fine name for a boy."

"Benson? As in the TV show you used to watch religiously as a kid?" Shawn interjected.

Bonnie snorted.

"Robert Guillaume made that role come to life, Shawn. Benson was highly underrated."

"Highly overrated, you mean," Shawn retorted. "And Bane? As in the _Bane_ of my exist—"

"As in _long-awaited child_," Bonnie cut in huffily. Shawn added that clarification to the Burton Guster information bin. So they had had trouble conceiving. Given their age and the fact that this was both their first child, Shawn had wondered if something more than Bonnie's career aspirations and Gus' reluctance to settle down again after the Mira debacle was at play here.

"Oh. Well, it's a lovely name," Shawn quickly agreed. "Bane Shawn Guster."

Shawn had to will his stomach muscles not to retch. Judging by the near imperceptible jerk next to him, so did his dad.

"Benson Shawn Guster sounds better."

"Oh, yeah, that just rolls off the tongue," Shawn agreed, not quite able to keep the sarcasm from creeping into his voice.

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Gus shot back pointedly.

_Yeah, about a million._

"It has to start with a B. You know, because of my, and Gus' names," Bonnie added.

"Right."

Shawn frowned. Didn't people just wait and pick their kids names after they were born. How do you know a Michael is a Michael until you see him? That's the only reason baby boy Spencer, numero dos, got endowed with that name. Shawn had successfully argued for Zachary (Zach to all his buds), and grudgingly agreed to Michael as his middle name, before Jules had quietly switched the names, arguing that their sweet baby, with the deep blue eyes and pale pink skin could be nothing other than a Michael. And she was right. He was definitely a Michael more than a Zach, same way that Hannah was definitely a Hannah Elizabeth more than a Jessica Christina, Megan Amelia, or any one of the other fifteen names Jules had come up with. After he had christened his daughter Hannah, Jules had been unable to argue that anything else would fit her just as perfectly.

"Huh. Why don't you wait until after the baby is born and see what fits?"

Bonnie and Gus just stared at him blankly.

"You know, see if he really looks like a Benson." Here his dad snorted.

"Or a Bane." He added carefully.

"Or a Shawn." More blank stares. "Just a suggestion."

"What's your middle name?" Bonnie asked. Shawn had to suppress an eye roll.

"Henry," came the reply from behind him.

"I don't think Henry's the way to go," Shawn added. _Especially considering Generation Y…Z? has already got a Henry in this mix._

"Why the hell not?" His dad piped in indignantly. "Henry's a great name. Henry was your great-grandfather's name. I was named after him. And so were you."

"Exactly. My great granddad had that name, you have that name, I have that name and…" _Your grandson has that name. Henry's been done._ "Plenty of Henry's throughout the generations. I know how about we try something different. Be original. How about a name that's not Henry, huh?"

"Dad, Henry died out about two generations ago. To keep forcing it to live on, it's just cruel."

"Well, obviously, Henry is a family name for you guys. I wouldn't feel comfortable using it," Gus' wife ventured delicately.

"Thank God," Shawn muttered. Henry glared.

"How about William?" His dad offered.

"William?" Shawn wrinkled his nose, looking at his father. Henry shrugged. "I always liked that name for a boy. I wanted to name you William, after my great uncle, but your mother insisted on naming you Shawn."

"Which is why I've always liked mom," Shawn replied. Henry just gave him a look.

"I like William," Gus said thoughtfully. "William Shawn Guster. William _Benson _Guster."

"William Bane Guster," Bonnie corrected reprovingly. "I like it."

"Yeah, it's not bad," Gus grudgingly agreed. "And we can call him Billy, and still have his name be a B." Henry smiled smugly.

Ugh.

"You don't get to have any say in the name of your future grandchild," Shawn said, shaking his head in disappointment.

"What grandchild? You mean that non-existent baby you had with your non-existent wife, supported by your non-existent steady job? What is this fictional baby, Shawn, a boy, or am I going to be grandfather to the first baby girl Spencer in three generations?"

"You're having a girl? Oh congratulations, Shawn. Sarah just said you were expecting another baby."

Four heads whipped to the unwitting Judas who uttered that statement. She was another obstetric nurse Shawn had made the acquaintance of with his last two children. His brain conjured a name from the panicked depths. Angela? Angie? Yeah, that sounded right. Angie smiled familiarly at him as she pulled a blood pressure cuff off a nearby table and attached it to Bonnie's arm. Bonnie didn't even twitch, pausing only long enough to glance at Gus out of the corner of her eye, before returning her gaze to Shawn. Gus meanwhile never took his dumbfounded gaze off of Shawn. And once again, Shawn could feel the heat from the burning stare his dad had leveled at him. It was Gus who dared to break the silence.

"Another baby?" he echoed.

Fuck.

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	5. Chapter 5

A weak laugh escaped his lips before he could suppress it.

"Uh, yeah. Another baby. Did I forget to mention that?" A decade of having to hurriedly assume nonchalance under extreme conditions hid the inner panic that was flooding his mind. He was soooo not prepared to talk about this. His dad straightened and shifted his weight, the movement jerky and subtle, indicative of the suppressed anger no doubt coursing through his veins.

"And just how old would the _first_ baby be?"

"Oh, hmm, let's see," Shawn hemmed while he tried to mentally navigate his way through these decidedly unfriendly waters.

"She's got to be almost two, now, isn't she?" _Angela_ piped up. Shawn wished he could pull his gun from his holster and…okay…maybe not shoot her, but…pistol whip her a little? Surely that was an acceptable form of violence given the situation, right?

"She is the cutest little thing. How many years between your oldest and the new baby are there going to be? You're going to have quite an age difference, aren't you?" Angela continued, heedless of the damage she was wreaking. She squeezed the air pump on the cuff a few times in rapid succession, before slowing the pace as she looked up at Shawn, waiting patiently for his answer. Three other heads turned in tandem as well.

Okay, shoot her. Definitely.

"Oldest?!" Gus parroted. "As in the superlative? As in at least three?" Henry crossed his arms tightly over his chest and frowned deeply, lines that had been in evidence ten years ago, further deepened by age and hardship.

"Yeah, Shawn, just how old _is_ your oldest," his dad murmured quietly in agreement. Shawn cringed. That couldn't be good. "And just how many kids do you _have_?"

The last question was uttered with far more control than Shawn would have thought his dad possible, but it did nothing to diminish the underlying fury beneath it.

"This will be your fourth, right?" Angela answered, releasing the air in the cuff and removing the stethoscope from her ears.

Fuck, was he seriously going to have to pull out his gun and shoot her right here in the middle of the pre-delivery room to get her to shut up?!

"FOURTH?!"

"Uh, Angela, is it? Would you be a dear and run along and get Bonnie some more ice chips?"

_Get out, get out, get out, GET OUT!!_

Something in Shawn's tone must have finally clued her in, because, with a sweeping glance at the other occupants, she snapped her mouth shut and with a nod, left Shawn to deal with the fallout of her many revelations.

"Four, Shawn? FOUR children?" His dad snapped before Shawn could even draw a breath.

"Hmm, so I didn't mention that at all, huh? And here you were worried about having _no _grandchildren. You must feel pretty silly right now."

"Four _grand_children. That I knew nothing about! And judging by your lack of any meaningful communication, would never know _anything_ about, were it not for some OB nurse with a big mouth."

"I—"

"Grandchildren, Shawn. _My _grandchildren." Henry paused, ostensibly for a deep breath before continuing his rant, but he abruptly cut off his own monologue. Exhaling loudly he stared at Shawn with an emotion akin to disbelief. The room was so damn quiet, the only sounds breaking the solemnity were the ones emanating from Bonnie's and the baby's heart machine.

"So, how old is your oldest one?" Gus put in, having recovered his voice, or at least the opportunity to use it.

Shawn fiddled with a plush pony he found in a gift basket on the bureau while he considered how to respond.

"Eight."

"Eight!"

Seemed his dad found his voice again.

"Are they all girls?" Bonnie asked.

"Is it really your fourth child you're expecting?" Gus asked in a strained voice.

Shawn nodded reluctantly. "My wife's due in less than five months."

"Wife!"

Apparently one word syllables were all that Henry Spencer was capable of, though. Everyone looked down at Shawn's hands, fiddling with the stuffed baby toy.

"You're not wearing a ring," Bonnie pointed out, and there was a hint of reproach in the observation.

"And you haven't been wearing it for a long time," Gus added, squinting. Shawn raised his eyebrow. "There's no tan line on your finger," Gus explained. Shawn gave a nod in approval.

"I don't wear it, generally," was all he replied.

"Why not?" Bonnie asked.

_Because I can't risk anymore of my family getting shot at my expense. Because in my line of work, it's just stupid. Because I don't okay?_

"Wait just a goddamn minute here."

Ah, graduated to full sentences. Already Shawn was yearning for the muteness and monosyllabelic speech uttered only moments before.

"You're married?"

Shawn nodded slowly.

"And you have four kids?"

Another nod. Well, technically in five months he would.

"One of which is a girl, apparently, another that is eight years old and your oldest, and still another on the way."

"Gus, you should be jealous. That was some great nutshelling, dad. Gus couldn't have summed it up better."

"Were you even going to tell _me_?" Gus continued in the same strained tone. "I can't believe you didn't say anything. I mean, I thought I was your best friend, Shawn."

_Yeah, ten years ago, Gus. But you've missed some key events in my life that a so-called best friend would never have missed. And I know you were 'dead' and all, but I don't know where you fit in my life anymore. _

"Look, I planned on telling both of you."

"When?" Henry and Gus demanded simultaneously.

"At the right time."

"And when's that, Shawn?"

_Fuck if I know_. Was there a Dear Abby column on when you're supposed to reveal things about your personal life that you've kept locked away to the people who faked their own deaths and created new lives and identities somewhere else, and then suddenly popped back into your sphere again? What was the protocol on that?

"Hell, if I know, Dad. Look, I've been busy, too—" this was met with a snort of derision—"and I wanted to make sure it was a time when I could just sit down and explain."

"Really?"

_No, are you kidding me? You and I both know that I didn't plan to _ever_ have this conversation, regardless of your dead or alive status._

_"_Who are you kidding, Shawn? You've done everythign in your power to ensure you haven't been alone with either one of us these last six weeks. In fact, up until today, the last time you spent any significant amount of time with us was at the station when we were released."

Hmm. So his dad had noticed that, huh?

"So tell us about them."

"What?"

"Your kids. Tell us about them. We've got time." Gus repeated.

"Yeah, I'm going to be here awhile," Bonnie added dispiritedly, needlessly indicating her swollen abdomen. "Apparently."

"Oh, well, I'd hate to steal your thunder," Shawn began, mentally conducting a map of topical escape.

"_Shawn_."

Crap. He forgot the warden of this prison was his dad, and even a decade apart hadn't made him stupid or forgetful to Shawn's evasion attempts.

"So, you said your oldest was eight? Start there."

"Do you have all girls?" Bonnie repeated.

"Uh, no. No, I have a little of both."

He earned another Henry Spencer patented look at his flip response.

"But a girl is the youngest?"

"Yeah, she's the baby." And despite his intentions, he felt his lips pull into the grin that always appeared when he discussed his daughter. "Then I have a four year old and the already mentioned eight year old, both boys."

"What are their names?"

"Jamie, that's my oldest." Henry wrinkled his nose, no doubt on the feminine monikor for his grandson. "It's short for James…Henry," Shawn added reluctantly when he saw his dad frown. It was quickly replaced by a look of surprise.

"You named your son after me?"

"No. Are you kidding? Of course not. We named him after his great grandfather. After me. After—"

"You named your son after me."

"No! Well, maybe. Kind of. His mother…insisted on that name. He's named after her father and my father. Her dad passed away a few months before his birth. And since you of course bit the dust a couple of years before that, she thought your name would provide a nice sort of book end to that idea."

"I thought Henry had been done," his dad replied, and the mischievous gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Dad."

"Sorry. Continue."

"Where was I?"

"Your four year old. What's his name?" Gus replied.

"What's your little girl's name?" Bonnie added.

"Ah, my four year old—that's Michael, the middle child. And Hannah's my daughter's name."

"Hannah. That's a pretty name."

"Michael Henry by chance?"

"NO!"

"Michael Shawn?" Gus threw in.

"Michael Zachary. And Hannah Elizabeth if you insist on knowing."

"Those are beautiful names," Bonnie said soothingly, giving her husband a stern look. "Do you have any pictures?"

_What? Shit, no. _He was coming off assignment; if there was any time during the year when Shawn was extra secretive, extra careful, it was during an assignment. Pictures in wallets of children and wives just gave criminals more fodder to extort you with.

Bryce Juarez had not known that Juliet was Shawn's pregnant wife when she confronted him in that warehouse, but he had sensed that she meant something to Shawn, that Shawn was sure of. Besides, who was going to let a pregnant woman just lie there and bleed? He had forced Shawn to tip his hand when he had shot her, and Shawn, supposedly Bryce's closest confidante, had involuntarily jerked his arms out to her aid. While Bryce had made a run for the border, Shawn stayed with Juliet, futilely trying to stop the bleeding and the baby that had started to come. By the time the paramedics had arrived she was three centimeters dilated, and Shawn had known somehow deep in his bones that the doctors efforts to slow or halt labor would amount to nothing.

"Uh, no, I don't have anything on me, sorry," he answered shortly hoping Bonnie and the others were a little more clued in than the nursing staff and drop the subject.

"No pictures? Why not?" she cried in disbelief, and Shawn bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to maintain his cool.

"Well, Gus might have mentioned I'm descended from cops. It's just not the kind of thing we carry in our wallets, all right. My father never carried any pictures of me in his wallet when he was on the force."

"Yeah, when I was on the force. As a cop. But you're not a cop, Shawn," Henry pointed out confidently. After a beat, he added, "Are you?"

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous." Wow, that denial, even after ten years, was so reflexive it was out of his mouth before he even thought about it. Well, he wasn't a cop, not really. Like, how he wasn't really a cop when he was a working as a fake psychic. Although, he did have a badge and a gun now. Shit. He was a cop.

"So why don't you have any pictures of your kids," Gus asked.

"New wallet. I haven't had time to transfer everything from the old one to this one. Barely even had time to get my driver's license in before you called."

That narrow, steely-eyed squint got even narrower as it zeroed in on Shawn's face, looking for the tells that would confirm to Henry Spencer that he son was lying through the perfectly straight white teeth he had paid 3000 for. His nose already prominent on his face, Shawn vaguely hoped that those extra few millimeters it just grew wouldn't stand out.

"Hmph," was all Henry said, letting the issue drop for now. To be revisited later, of that Shawn was certain.

It couldn't be good, this rare display of father/son camaraderie. Undoubtedly this was building towards something that Shawn was pretty sure he didn't want to be present for. He was all for a full retreat, regroup and reassess the situation at hand. Maybe develop a concrete, cohesive cover story. He could ad-lib a cover story with the best of them, but Jules, the kids, and his job provided so many minefields, it was wisest not to navigate them without a clear map of where you were going, especially with someone like Gus and his father asking for answers.

"So what about your wife. What does she do?"

Jules was a little easier topic to discuss by herself.

"She's a detective with the SBPD."

Gus perked up.

"Really? And would I know this detective?"

"It's entirely possible," Shawn conceded solemnly. "Blond, blue-eyed, can break down and rebuild a .9 mm Beretta in 15 seconds."

"Not Juliet," Gus replied disbelievingly.

"Of course Juliet. Could there be anybody else?"

"Half this hospital's nursing staff, apparently," his dad muttered rudely.

Shawn sniffed loudly. "She stole my seat and stole my heart. It was love at first sight."

"I can't believe you finally wore her down."

"Please, Gus. She could hardly resist my considerable charms for long, now could she?"

"I don't know. She resisted them for at least two years, if I remember correctly."

"Ha."

"Who's this Juliet? Have I met her?" his dad cut in gruffly.

"Jules, dad. Lassie's partner. Detective O'Hara," he added when that didn't seem to jog any memories.

"Wait, the blond detective down at the SBPD with Lassiter?"

"Yes, dad, that's Juliet."

"She's pregnant? She didn't look pregnant when we saw her a month ago."

"She wasn't that far along dad. Only about three months."

"Do you know what you're having?"

"A baby."

Gus gave him a dirty look. "Another _boy_ baby or a _girl_ baby?"

"It's anybody's guess, but I believe those are our two options."

Gus rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I can't believe you're a father to four children. I mean, I waited my whole damn life for just one, and here you have four. Four!" Gus shook his head. "Who would have ever had guessed? Shawn Spencer. Father."

"Well, hey man, in just a little longer you'll join that esteemed rank, as well."

"Yeah," Gus agreed with a smile. "I wish he'd hurry up."

"Me, too. We had a lot of trouble conceiving," Bonnie explained unnecessarily. Shawn had already divined that knowledge based on his own observations and a few oblique statements heard here and there. "It seems like we've been waiting for a baby forever," she continued. "And now we'll be waiting a little longer. How long was your wife in labor with your children?"

"With our first? Thirty-six hours I think." Bonnie blanched. "The second was much easier, only about 22 hours if I remember right." Here Bonnie paled even further.

"What about the third?" Gus asked hesitantly, also looking a bit pale.

"Only thirty-minutes at the most," Shawn managed, keeping his face neutral.

"Must have taken after her mom, that one," Henry spoke up. "You were a week late and put your mother through 29 hours of labor."

"Yeah, Michael was four days late, but Jamie was two weeks early, thank you very much. And it's well known that first babies take longer to be born."

"I was a week early." Gus noted.

"I was two weeks early, and induced," Bonnie added. "This one's only got two more days until his due date. And at the rate this is going, I still might not be a mother by then."

"Hmm. Well, there's still hope," Shawn offered feebly. He sincerely hoped that baby William would step up the pace. He didn't have two days to wait until Gus' kid decided to be born. Even if he did, he sure wasn't going to spend the next 48 hours trapped in this hospital room with these people.

He had a family of his own. And a job to get back to. And more importantly a cover to maintain, and every second he stood here allowed more opportunity for cracks to show in the facade. Though, he wasn't sure which facade he was still trying to project. The one that came with the dossier on his most current case? The one he erected ten years ago as he watched two coffins lower to the ground? Or the one that appeared six weeks ago, when he found out the truth about the two people once closest to him?

Ten years ago, he thought he had finally found himself. He had found his calling. And his home.

And then fate had to go and fuck it all up.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Thanks for the reviews and encouragement. Keep them coming! :)

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The discussion of Shawn's life lived without them was put on hold with the return of Angela and Bonnie's doctor, Alan Peterson.

Shawn didn't know him. Jules' obstetrician had been a middle aged woman with dark, expressive eyes, named Dr. Patel. She had assisted in the births of Shawn's first two children. Hannah's doctor had ultimately wound up being a man, due to her extreme birthing circumstances, the necessity of a neonatal surgeon, and the limited amount of time they had had to act. By the time Dr. Patel had arrived on scene, Hannah had been whisked away to neonatal care.

Shawn was glad for the reprieve Angie and Dr. Peterson provided, though. The undue scrutiny into his personal life was unsettling. This was not how he had foreseen that conversation going. Of course after ten years, the thought that he would ever even be having this conversation was not something he had considered. Even after he had learned the truth six weeks ago about his dad and former best friend, he had forcefully put the eventual repercussions of their unexpected reunion out of his mind.

That they were alive, all this time, couldn't be real.

So Shawn had gone on living like he always had these last 3,738 days, not willing to be a sucker in what had to be life's cruelest joke. He had kept his distance from his father and friend after that first day. The typical Shawn Spencer avoidance tactics were dredged from the dirt they had settled in. Phone calls straight to voice mail. Cell phone turned off, and hey, with his job, he never even carried his personal cell phone on an assignment so that helped. Not to mention his job took him away from Santa Barbara, sometimes far away. And his dad and Gus didn't know where he lived anymore, so no worries for an unexpected doorstep conversation. He had been a little concerned that they might discover his relationship with Jules, and where she (they) lived, but Jules had left it up to Shawn to bring up the subject of his married life, and Shawn had decided it wasn't a topic he wanted to visit. And apparently neither his dad nor Gus had ever suspected that Shawn might be involved with someone down at the station. Apparently they hadn't suspected he was involved with anyone at all.

And that was fine with him. It made his life a little easier. And God knows his life in the last ten years had been anything but easy.

Besides, there was no point in getting too close to something that wasn't real anyway. Gus being alive after Shawn had mourned him for a decade, had felt the acute loss of a friend once so close he was like a brother; he had reconciled and finally come to grips with his death. Both their deaths. Maybe he wasn't at peace with it, but he had finally been able to convince his mind to let it go, accept it as an irrevocable fact they neither would ever return.

And then they had.

When Jules had called him down to the station he had forced his mind to be blank. It wasn't hard. All he felt was numb.

When Jules had said there was a new development in the case he knew it wasn't new facts, or that they had finally captured the parties responsible. He knew because he had already done that himself, nearly fours years after their supposed deaths. The last of the cartel that had orchestrated his father's and friend's demise had collapsed, with damning evidence that even the slickest lawyer wouldn't be able to overturn, and that was finally when Shawn felt like he might be able to breathe again. He reconnected with Jules, a constant plague on his mind ever since that fateful night they had slept together. Connected with the son that resulted from that night. And finally, _finally_, felt as though he could move on.

So of course, it had to be all blown to hell.

He remembered consciously telling himself it wasn't real. It wasn't true. Remembered saying the words out loud, in the car, as he mechanically drove to the station. After all, admitting it was the first step right? Wasn't that how it worked? And if he said them out loud, then there was no way they could be anything but dead. They just couldn't be. Not when he had finally sold his childhood home. Not when he had finally given away their things. Not after all this time. Not when he had finally got a grip on his life.

In a weird kind of symmetry, Chief Vick had once again been called down to give him the news. She had been with him the first time, had informed him, in fact, of his father's and best friend's deaths. This time she informed him they were alive. The circle of life.

He had entered the station, pace purposefully slow and even. After all, what was the rush? They were still dead. Why would he rush to hear what he already knew, and had known for years? No one stopped him to chat. That wasn't the shocker it used to be ten years ago, before he revealed that he was not, in fact, psychic. After that revelation many officers distanced themselves from him, out of resentment and their own discomfort with the situation. A few remained civil.

Some relationships had been too damaged to repair, but others had soldiered on and even improved. Jules' being the most obvious. But scarily enough, Lassiter became an ally. Granted, a grudging one. _"I knew it wasn't all that hocus pocus stuff you claimed it to be, Spencer,"_ he had declared. "_But I don't understand how someone like you could solve as many cases you did, and the kind of cases you did. It's incredible."_

It helped when, a few years down the road, he went legit, with actual training and certification by a law enforcement agency.

That Lassiter supported him didn't mean they had become friends. Shawn kept his distance from the head detective, both because he knew their tenuous truce could crumble with the barest of breaths, and because he wasn't really welcome at the station anymore. He hadn't been barred. And the chief called on occasion to ask for help, but he was never put on cases again. Shawn's revelation had put her in a tight spot. There had been no public flogging of either Vick or Shawn, but with the truth of his ability known, she couldn't afford to keep using a civilian on cases.

With nothing left for him, Shawn packed up and left.

He still phoned in the tips, though. No one could stop him from that. Besides, not like he was wrong.

That was how Lassiter had got in touch with him.

And that was how Shawn had got involved with the DEA.

Because, even though Shawn could no longer actively assist on police cases in Santa Barbara, he could be of great service to the Drug Enforcement Agency. Especially since Shawn had some experience with a cartel they were trying to bring down. And Lassiter had to know how good that retribution would feel to Shawn, after losing the two people closest to him to them.

Shawn had provided a major break in the investigation, and the rest was history. He was hired on and put through training and school. A double agent; an informant. Infiltrating top drug traffickers and bringing them down. His life, what was left of it, went on.

Until that phone call.

The door to the Chief's, or former chief, now deputy commissioner, office had been open, but the blinds were drawn. He had stepped into the office, turned to his right, and there they were. Sitting in the chairs, slightly behind him. If fact, he might not have noticed them at all, were it not for the fact that he noticed _everything_, and his Dad had stood from his chair, a croaky "Shawn," slipping out of his mouth.

Shawn stared.

His dad had not aged as gracefully as he could have. But other than the hardship of losing the life he had built, his house, his career, his hobbies, his son, it didn't look as though he had suffered much else, physically at least. Gus was starting to grey. And he had had a mustache, for whatever godforsaken reason that had convinced him to grow one. They both looked tired and worn out, but there wasn't that weighty air surrounding them, that same bit of gravity that followed Shawn everywhere.

His dad stood, and it was like Shawn was somewhere else, anywhere else, but not there. He watched with clinical detachment as his dad took a hesitant step forward, registered Gus coming to his feet as well, and noted distantly that his father was actually tearing up at the sight of the son he hadn't laid eyes on in ten years.

Shawn stayed rooted to the cement, mute, catatonic, eyes locked on his father's, lest they dart away only to return to empty space, a figment his mind had conjured up out of wishful thinking. Except he hadn't been wishing for this; in fact, hadn't he had been hoping for the opposite? He wanted to sit down. He wanted to fall down. He wanted to wake up from this never-ending nightmare he was locked in.

His dad took two more jerky steps forward, and Shawn peripherally registered Juliet and Lassiter coming to stand in the doorway, trapping him in this altered reality. His eyes never left his father's, and Henry finally closed the gap between them after a lunge that closed the distance and gathered his son in his arms.

Eight seconds. The clock on the wall ticked them off. Eight seconds they stayed like that. Henry's arms wrapped tightly around Shawn, while his son's own hung loosely at his sides.

Henry jerked away almost immediately, of course. This was Henry Spencer after all, and Henry Spencer didn't do teary reunions, not even after ten years and supposed death, especially in a police station. But his dad had touched him, cupped both sides of his face, however briefly, before patting his arms and turning to allow Gus to do the same. He kept his arm around Shawn's shoulders though. Another twelve seconds, before relinquishing contact completely.

It was then Shawn remembered to breathe. He took a shaky breath in. Stared again at the flight of fancy his mind had conjured up. Let a shaky breath out. Then got his body under control. Eyes unreadable, he turned to Vick and for the first time registered another body, this one unfamiliar, but with the air of a federal flunky pervading his aura, that was seated behind the Chief's old desk.

"Mr. Spencer," the fed acknowledge, and indicated the chair in front of him. "We have some things to discuss."

No shit, Sherlock. Did they ever.

They didn't discuss Shawn's life or Henry's and Gus' life in the years since they had last seen each other. The only time they touched on Shawn's career was with a brief and vague reference to assisting the DEA's office to bring the cartel to justice. In fact, the fed left the impression that once that task had been completed, that had simply been it. Instead he touched on the case that had started all this, ten and a half years ago, and how and why it led to the necessity to fake Henry and Gus' deaths.

To protect Shawn. To protect themselves.

What shit.

Shawn listened to it for an hour, nodding complacently when it required it, his mind on overload, unable to process the words being thrown at him through the mirage he was experiencing.

When, after that time, the fed, Jansen, finally wrapped up his monologue, he asked if Shawn had any questions. He had shook his head no, and Jansen excused himself from the office and their lives with a, "Well, I'll leave you to it. I'm sure you have a lot to catch up on."

Again, no shit.

When his dad had looked expectantly at Shawn, he had found himself fleeing the scene as well. With a muttered excuse, and apology, for what exactly Shawn wasn't sure, he left the station as well, ignoring the hurt looks on both faces.

Jules had called forty-five minutes later, no doubt after she had found out and made excuses for him. He was already halfway to L.A. by then. She had not been happy with his behavior, but given the circumstances she hadn't really been mad, either. Shawn found himself once again apologizing, and promised to meet and explain everything to his dad and Gus just as soon as he tied things up at work. He was still working a case, after all, preparing to go to court to testify against the Denning brothers. He couldn't just shirk a subpoena in a grand jury trial.

He testified and immediately signed on for another assignment.

Jules had been downright pissed, and quite vocal about it. He attributed it to pregnancy hormones.

Then he had called his dad's hotel and left a message he'd be out of touch for a while, but not to worry, they'd get together soon and talk. He was looking forward to it, he promised. And then he did what he did best, as his dad would say.

He ran away.

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I won't lie. I love reviews.


	7. Chapter 7

When Dr

AN: I don't know what happened here, but somehow Henry wrested control over this chapter, and before I knew it, it was told almost entirely from his point of view. Bad Henry! Bad!

When Dr. Peterson announced he was going to take a look "down there" both Shawn and Henry quickly excused themselves from the room.

Once out in the hallway, Shawn took the opportunity to check his watch, mentally calculating his ETA if he left now and booked it back to LA. He could get there well before the six o'clock news if he hurried. Probably stop and get some tacos along the way, too.

"Somewhere else you have to be?"

Shawn dropped his arm guiltily, pulling his mind away from his imminent escape. He mustered a grin from somewhere deep in his weary body. "Me?"

"Kids you have to pick up, perhaps?"

"Ah, no, Jules takes care of all of that, generally." Or has arrangements for someone else to do so if either parent couldn't. In fact, the only time Shawn ever picked up the children was when he was done with work, had left LA and his latest completed assignment behind. Then Shawn rounded up the children from school and daycare and together the quartet went to station to surprise their mother. Henry nodded a flicker of disappointment etching across his face. No chance to meet the grandchildren he had yet to lay eyes on. For some reason, despite the discussion just moments earlier, Shawn was surprised by the eagerness for introductions.

"Somewhere else you _prefer_ to be?" he rephrased, raising a salt and peppered eyebrow. "You seem anxious to leave."

"Nah, I was just—" here the eyebrow arched higher. "Well, actually, Oprah was going to have a great episode on at three: _Beauty Secrets of the Stars._ I have been just dying to know how Sigourney Weaver never ages."

"Right," intoned Henry. Shawn ran his hand through his hair, fighting the urge to once again look at his watch. He found himself pulling his eyes away from the double doors down the corridor. Escape was only a couple dozen strides away, he noted. Out the door and back to LA, but no chance to see Jules or the kids before he left, even if he was willing to risk it while still on assignment. Jules had been tied up with the robbery case for the last two weeks, and Jules' mother had driven down two weeks ago to visit and tend to the children while both parents were tied up with work.

She did not like Shawn.

More specifically, she did not like Shawn's job, which she knew precious little about, except that it took him away from her daughter and grandchildren for long stretches at a time (long being more than an eight hour work day), and she especially did not like the fact that Shawn had fathered a child with her daughter and then skipped out on raising it for the first three years of its life.

Of course, that's not quite how it had happened, but then again, Jillian O'Hara had never seemed interested in the details.

Suffice to say, Shawn and Jillian avoided each other as much as possible and only tolerated each other for short periods of time for Jules' sake.

Unfortunately, several years after the death of her husband, Jillian had made the decision to move to California to be closer to her only daughter. Not too mention, shortly after her husband's death, her first grandchild had been born, and Jules, with no support from the father, had needed the help her mother provided.

Initially Jillian had only flown out for visits, but after several years, and the reappearance of the deadbeat dad to what was then her only grandson, the decision was made to find a more permanent residence in the vicinity of her daughter. By the time Michael had cut his first tooth, Jillian had set up camp in an active adult community in a new development in nearby Santa Maria.

"Look," Henry continued, pulling shawn's thoughts away from his mother-in-law. "How about we go to the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee."

Shawn tensed, knowing the likelihood that it was just coffee, and not the prelude to the inquisition he had been avoiding like the plague, was slim. His dad had finally found the perfect opportunity to get him alone, the seeming innocuous cup of coffee.

"Uh, we probably shouldn't leave Gus for too long. He—"

"Gus will be fine. They need a few moments to themselves. So do we."

Shawn opened his mouth to protest but Henry cut him off.

"You've been avoiding me for weeks Shawn. You said we'd get together and talk. That was six weeks ago. We're here, so let's talk."

"Here? Now? We're in the hospital, dad, I mean—"

"So? If I let you pick the venue you'll wind up telling stories over my grave stone."

Shawn stiffened even further, his face pensive with barely controlled fury. Henry stiffened as well, realizing his poor choice of words.

"Well, just damn your luck, huh, since I've already done that. Years ago. Sorry you missed it," Shawn hissed angrily.

"Shawn," Henry placated. "I know. Poor choice of words. But you and I both know that if we leave it up to you to initiate the conversation you probably never will. And you can't deny we have a lot to talk about. Now come on. I'll treat." Henry gestured for Shawn to precede him. With a last look at Bonnie's room, Shawn sighed.

"Fine. But in that case, I want an extra tall café mocha with whip cream and those little chocolate shavings all over it."

"I'm not sure they have that here at a hospital, Shawn. It's not starbucks."

"Oh, they do."

Henry cast a look to his side at the son who made that statement so matter-of-factly. His eyes narrowed at the back of the still thickly coiffed head, he noted with a small pang of jealousy. After all the comments about his shiny dome, he had half-hoped he'd be able to return some of the gleeful jabs. Apparently Shawn _had_ been blessed thick with perfect hair.

He just shook his head as Shawn walked ahead of him. He took in the slender form of his only son, noting he had lost weight from the last time he had laid eyes on him, six weeks ago. Even then, after ten years, Shawn had been thinner than Henry had ever remembered, going back to Shawn's teen years, when he had been a lanky youth. His body, at forty years old, obviously didn't possess that youthful appearance it once had, but he was still awfully thin. There was clearly muscle underneath the skin, now, though. One of the many changes Henry had a hard time keeping up with.

Shawn had never been flabby, but he had never been particularly muscular. Toned from the many sports he had engaged in as a child and teenager, and Shawn had left it at that. Too lazy, Henry had always figured, to work out at a gym, or lift weights, or any other macho sort of activity.

Given his appearance, Henry had had no problems believing his son was still single. Had he been married, he was certain Shawn would be a little paunchier, not necessarily overweight, or even heavy, but definitely a little thicker around the middle.

Now given the news that his son was in fact married, Henry couldn't help but wonder what his impression and the clash of reality meant. He too had once been lean, but once he had married Shawn's mother, the evening meals his wife prepared had started to catch up with him. Married life in general started to catch up with him. Less time to work out, especially once Shawn was born. Too tired to work out, actually, after working a beat and then coming home to take care of a wife and child. And Shawn had three of them.

Maybe they ran him ragged, three chips off their father's block, Henry mused. Maybe there was some justice after all. Because if Shawn had three kids just like he had been, then there was, in fact, a God.

And a glorious God he was, indeed.

"What are you smiling about?" Shawn cut in, having stopped in the hallway.

"Nothing," Henry replied. "Just thinking about things." Shawn raised an eyebrow.

"I bet," Shawn muttered. "I'm getting the sprinkling of caramel, too. And a scone."

"It's not a damn bistro, Shawn."

It was a damn bistro.

In a hospital.

And they served tall café mochas with chocolate shavings and caramel sprinklings, and scones, as well.

Shawn had the nerve to look smug as he noisily sipped from his cup.

"Fine, you were right? Happy?" Henry groused. Shawn grinned, the first genuine smile Henry could remember seeing light up his face.

"Obviously you knew they served this, just like you knew where room 307 was located. You've been here before. Your kids were all born here, I take it?"

The smile vanished, replaced by a guarded expression, as though he was carefully contemplating his answers. Shawn took another sip and nodded. It was clear he was still planning on avoiding certain topics.

Henry nodded in reply, unsure where to proceed with the questions he had now that he had finally cornered Shawn, so to speak.

"They good kids?"

Shawn took another sip and gave him a look.

"They're kids, dad, not murderers and drug dealers. I'm sure you think I'm a bad example, but so far the worst offense between them is when Michael shoved his sister off the slide. I suppose I could charge him with assault and battery, but he was only three at the time, and plus I'd have to charge my daughter with it, too. She threw an alphabet block at him. Thought I might let both off with a reprimand and a time out."

"I was just—I—" Shawn raised an eyebrow again at the stuttering. "I was just curious as to what kind of kids they are." Henry leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"What kind of kids do you _think_ they are?" Shawn replied testily.

This was not going the way Henry wanted it to. Already, three minutes in and they were both well into the pre-yelling stage.

"You tell me," Henry said.

"I just did."

"Well, who do they look like?"

"Their parents."

"Shawn."

"Dad."

"Throw me a freaking bone, here, kid. I just found out I'm a grandfather to three children—soon to be four—not ten minutes ago and I don't know a single thing about them except how old they are and their names.

"Sounds like that's two things. And it was more like sixteen minutes ago."

"_Shawn._"

Shawn blew out a breath.

"Fine. Who do they look like? Jamie looks kind of like me I guess. Michael doesn't really look like either of us, and Hannah looks like her mom, except with brown hair and my eyes."

Henry nodded. "They sound beautiful." Shawn snorted "So why don't you really have any pictures of them?"

"Dad."

"I know you just didn't get a new wallet, Shawn. You may be able to fool Gus, but you're not fooling me."

"Actually, I don't think I fooled Gus either," Shawn muttered.

"No, I don't think you did either. You're just lucky his mind is on other things, right now. I know he's looking for answers, too."

"Aren't we all."

"Yeah, well, here's our opportunity. Let's clear the air. I mean, I know this may come as a shock to you, but I've missed my son."

That infuriating eyebrow rose once more. "You've changed so much I barely recognize you," Henry continued. "I mean the kids, a wife—I'm going to assume a woman as classy as Detective O'Hara seems wouldn't be living with you in a grass shack—so probably a house, as well. You've—you've grown up kid."

The other eyebrow rose, the expression on Shawn face clearly articulating he had somehow entered the twilight zone.

"Bet you thought you'd never see the day, huh?" Shawn replied sourly.

Henry sighed. "Technically, I didn't." He met Shawn's eyes across the table. "I didn't—I didn't get to hear all about this Juliet, and your first date—"

"Which, realistically, dad, you would have only berated me about. You know, dating a coworker, dating a cop, dating someone way out of my league."

"Maybe."

"Uh, definitely."

"Didn't get to see you come over all nervous and flustered because you were going to propose."

"Why would I be nervous? Woman of my dreams here."

"Didn't get to see you get married, or see my first grandchild be born. I missed it all. And never, even in our worst fights did I ever think I would miss _all _those things." Henry played with the lid on his coffee. He had sworn, many times over the last ten years, that if he ever got to see Shawn again, he would let him know how much he meant to him. The wish got more fervent, determined, as each year went by that was lived without his son.

Now Shawn was here in front of him, and Henry was saying the words, but like every other time between them, Shawn was not getting the message. His son looked away, eyes darting around the tiny café, absently twirling the remains of his wussy coffee.

"Look, dad, I get it. I do. You're right. Things have changed. I've changed. You're right. I'm not the same Shawn you remember," and here his voice caught a moment, a slight hesitation before he plowed ahead. "I'm not sure what happened to that guy. He went away about the same time you and Gus did. I haven't seen him since."

Shawn paused again, inhaling a long deep breath before letting it out through his nose, that guarded expression, where once a carefree, easy going smile had resided, now ever present on his son's face.

"I have changed," he said again. He drained the last of his coffee and stood up. "You should probably get used to it."


	8. Chapter 8

It was clear his father wasn't sure what to make of his pronouncement, but he followed Shawn wordlessly back to Gus and Bonnie's room, mulling over the statement. Shawn walked ahead of him, the restless itch to run, ditch his father and go, far away, begging to be scratched.

There was also the pull of Jules and the kids, another reminder of what a big mistake it was to come back and meet Gus and his dad here. Being so close to home, a mere drive away from seeing and hearing them, touching Jules, and her swelling stomach, was pure torture. He ached to be with them, and all this time spent with his dad and Gus was just delaying their reunion. The sooner he finished up his case, the sooner he could get back to his real family.

And then maybe he would take Jules and the kids to the Epcott Center. Or Chicago, or Bangor Maine. Just as long as it was far enough away from his dad to keep him from following.

"Yeah, great. I'll tell him. Okay, see you in a few." Gus snapped his phone shut just as Shawn entered the room.

"That was Juliet and Lassiter. I told them we were all here and they said they would stop by to see us," Gus informed him.

Great.

Just what he needed. Jules' not-so-subtle hormone-induced attempts of reconciliation between him and his father and former best friend. Those were _so_ much easier to avoid when all the key players weren't in the same room together.

And Lassiter.

Swell.

He'd be glowering the whole time. Probably scare poor Bonnie's baby into hunkering down another two weeks in his mother's womb. Of course, maybe the reason he was so slow in making his appearance was because he heard what moniker awaited him and decided to wait it out until a better name came along.

Shawn sighed quietly, nodding his head with a fake show of enthusiasm. Well, at least he would see Jules before he went back to L.A.

"Juliet, your wife?" his dad asked, sounding disturbingly excited by the notion.

"Yeah, dad," Shawn confirmed with another suppressed sigh. His dad actually smiled.

"Good, now we can formally meet."

"You met six weeks ago. Hell, you met ten years ago."

"I had seen her around ten years ago. And besides, when I saw her six weeks ago, I just knew her as Detective O'Hara. Now, I'm meeting her as my daughter-in-law."

"Whatever, dad."

"She's with detective Lassiter, you say," Henry continued, directing the question at Gus. Gus nodded. "They were investigating some warehouse on 47th and Buckley Street. Some robbery case they're working on," Gus elaborated.

"So she doesn't have the kids with her," Henry concluded, disappointment obvious. "You think maybe she'll drop by and pick them up first?" His dad checked his watch. "It's a little early to be off shift, though." He sighed. "Maybe you and I can pick them up later?"

"Jesus, dad. Will you stop freaking out? You'll get to see your grandkids, okay? And no we're not going to pick them up, because as soon as I leave here, I'm heading back to work to finish my--" _case_ he was going to say, but managed a fairly smooth "job" instead.

"Since when are you so dedicated?" Gus snorted in disbelief.

"And where exactly is it you work again?" Henry interjected.

_Uhhh…_

"The Video Mart. Assistant Manger, as it happens. Pays more than you'd expect, which is good, since I have a family to support and all. Plus, all the kids' movies I want for free."

"Uh-huh." "Sure." Were the disbelieving replies.

"And _all_ kids rent for free there, Shawn," Gus added.

"What? Are you kidding me? And I was sure that was an exclusive perk. Now, see, that was the deal maker for me. Huh."

"Quit screwing around, kid. What is it you really do, and why don't you want to talk about it? Lassiter acted like it might still somehow be related to law enforcement."

"Well, I do still call in tips from time to time."

"I don't think that's what he was talking about."

Shawn was saved from further explanation by the arrival of Juliet and Lassiter.

He ignored Lassiter and locked eyes on the wife he hadn't seen in almost six weeks now, noting the changes in her body.

She looked unbelievably pregnant. A good six months plus, instead of the four and half Shawn knew her to be. Her cheeks were full and round, flushed a pretty pink, her eyes that beautiful shade of grey-blue that Shawn had fallen in love with the moment they met. They were unfortunately marred by the dark circles underneath. She had not been sleeping well and Shawn was hard-pressed not to admonish her to take it easy, and be careful with the baby.

Given her mood swings as of late, she'd probably pistol whip him. She turned her attention away from her husband, eyes taking in each of the occupants in the room, a hesitant smile bestowed to her father-in-law and a beam of recognition for Gus. Finally she turned her attention to the lady of the (past three) hour(s).

"Hi, I'm Juliet, and you must be Bonnie. Gus has told me so much about you!"

He had? How long had Shawn and his dad been down in the cafeteria? Shawn narrowed his eyes.

He winced when he felt a sharp sting to his calf. He turned accusing eyes on his father. "What?!"

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Henry jerked his head pointedly to Juliet, still exchanging pleasantries with Gus' wife.

"You already know each other!"

"Shawn."

"Fine."

"Hey, Jules!" Juliet looked up, brow furrowing at his call. "You've met my dad, right?"

"Uh, well, I don't think we've ever formally been introduced." Shawn failed to miss the pointed look his father gave him. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Spencer." She held her hand out, as she maneuvered around the room to come to stand before him.

"Please call me Henry; we're family after all."

Juliet beamed, sharing her sunny expression with her husband. Shawn smiled tightly back. "Henry," she agreed, and raised her eyebrows in surprise when Henry bypassed the outstretched hand and embraced her in an awkward hug. The look over Henry's shoulder was one of wide-eyed surprise and Shawn could only stare helplessly back, as shocked by his dad's behavior as she was.

"I didn't realize you were pregnant," Henry said, releasing her and taking a step back self-consciously, "back in April, wasn't it? Of course I didn't realize a lot of things. Like the fact that you were my daughter-in-law." Here Henry glared at Shawn. "But I'm glad you are," he added, and Shawn rolled his eyes.

"Oh, thank you," Juliet said, clearly unsure what to do with this previously unheard of soft side to her father-in-law. Shawn could commiserate. Apparently he wasn't the only one who changed. Wherever his dad had been for the last ten years, he had obviously never missed an episode of Oprah or Dr. Phil.

"Yeah, I'm going on five months now."

"When are you due?" Bonnie asked.

"Late October."

Shawn rolled his eyes again as everybody clearly filed that information away in their minds. Swell. It was fine and dandy for Gus' baby, but Shawn could do without the audience for his.

"Shawn said you didn't know whether you were having a girl or a boy."

"We didn't."

Shawn cocked his head.

"Didn't? As in now you do?" Mr. Grammar is my middle name Guster asked.

Juliet locked eyes with Shawn again.

"Maybe."

Shawn leaned against the bureau, crossing his ankles in a show of nonchalance. To his side, Henry darted his eyes between his son and daughter-in-law.

"You're not going to tell us?"

"Well, I should probably tell your son first," Juliet replied gently. "But he claims he doesn't want to know the sex of the baby."

"And you always agree and then find out _somehow_ anyway, so I'm curious, now that you know, as to how you're going to keep it a secret."

"I'm very good at keeping secrets. I keep secrets all the time," she added pointedly.

"Really? I seem to recall you unable to resist stopping by Children's Palace to snap up every pink bow, skirt and shirt you could get your hands on the moment you found out you were having Hannah."

"First of all, I only stopped by because Carlton needed a new tie from the Tie-Mart and Children's Palace happened to be on the way, and I noticed they were having a sale...And the reason why I bought so much pink was because that's all they had. Pink is such a girly color. And besides you said you weren't going to be home for another week. Another week I would have had it all hidden."

"Right."

"So, you're not curious at all about what you're having?" Henry pressed.

"No, but it's clear you are."

"Well, it's kind of like my first grandchild, especially since I missed the births of the other three. I'm excited. So sue me."

Shawn rolled his eyes. When Henry, Jules and every other occupant in the room kept staring, he obliged with a guess. "It's a girl, isn't it?" Shawn asked.

Juliet shook her head.

"A boy?" Henry interjected. Shawn looked over at him in irritation.

"That would stand to reason, wouldn't it dad?"

Juliet nodded. "A boy," she confirmed.

His father's face erupted in a wide grin. "A boy! Wow!" Anyone would have thought he was the expectant father, Shawn thought. "Congratulations. Three grandsons." His dad shook his head with a smile. "Wow."

Juliet nodded, eyes seeking her husband's for his approval. Shawn managed a grin, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that another boy would finish out their clan. Three boys. Well, at least he understood boys. His daughter, as much as he loved her, and even at two years old, sometimes behooved him.

"That's great, Jules."

"Yup, now we have to think of more boy baby names."

Henry perked up.

"Whoa, dad, absolutely not."

His dad looked affronted. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"No, but I heard your suggestions earlier, and I meant what I said. You're banned—he's banned," Shawn reiterated to Jules, "from naming the baby."

Jules' brow sunk down into the corner of her eye.

"Why?"

"You should have heard them Jules." Juliet and Henry rolled their eyes.

"I'm sure they weren't that bad," Jules said, turning her attention back to Bonnie.

"William, Jules, William. And, can you see me as a Billy? Or Willy? Or—"

"There are worse names, Shawn." Shawn thought of Bonnie and Gus' suggestions and shuddered.

"True, but there are better names, Jules."

"We'll discuss it later, Shawn."

Gus smirked.

"What?" Shawn snapped.

Gus only shook his head, but Shawn already knew what he was going to say. _"You're whipped, Shawny-boy."_

Shawn focused his attention instead on Lassiter, who was still hanging out by the door, skulking along the wall. Children, even those still under the protection of their mother's womb, made him nervous. He had been like this at Michael's birth, and Jules had said he was a wreck for Jamie's. But when Juliet had asked him to be her lamaze coach, he had agreed readily enough. In fact, the impression Shawn had was that Lassiter had rather enjoyed the experience. And it had been more than protectiveness over Juliet and Jamie when Carlton had threatened Shawn's nuts should he ever fuck up and hurt either of them. And he had been Shawn's calm and steady influence when Hannah was born. One of the very few times where Lassiter let down his guard enough in Shawn's presence to actually come across as a sensitive and caring human being. Of course, his partner's life was on the line, and if that was the only reason Carlton had decided to be a little less, well, Carlton, than that was a more than acceptable excuse for Shawn. Jules was worth it. In that, they were united.

Despite his misgivings about children Carlton seemed to accept and even like Shawn and Juliet's progeny, Juliet probably the larger factor in that decision. And Shawn had detected, more than once, a slight wistfulness in Carlton's face, whenever he observed Shawn with the children.

The one time he had mentioned children, the woman with whom he had been currently sharing a relationship with had adamantly refused to entertain the idea. They broke up two and a half months after that, and, Carlton had confessed, under the heavy influence of some twenty year old single malt scotch, that it had been the idea of having kids with him that did the relationship in.

That was two years ago, and Lassiter had avoided the topic, with anyone, ever since.

There were times like now when it was obvious to Shawn that Lassiter felt his chance to have children narrowing with each passing second. He was 47 after all. And it wasn't maybe that he necessarily wanted to have children, but that he wanted the _opportunity_ to have children. And that had not been present since his first wife.

The woman he was currently involved with was almost ten years younger, around Bonnie's age, in fact. Still more than capable of bearing children, especially in this day an age. But while Lassiter seemed genuinely happy with her, he had been dragging his feet in making any overtures that might suggest a more permanent sense of happiness.

"Hey Lassy." Shawn ventured.

"Spencer," Lassiter returned. "Henry," he said in a slightly more friendly tone.

"Detective," Henry acknowledged.

"Congratulations on becoming a grandfather," Lassiter added, sneering at Shawn's expression.

"Thanks. Came as quite a shock, as you can imagine."

"I can imagine." Shawn threw him a murderous look.

"I'm sure _you _have seen them."

"Dad!"

"Yes," Lassiter replied carefully, clearly aware of the dangers of coming between an argument between father and son, even after a decade. "I've met them."

"Good, maybe you can tell me a little more about them, since my son can hardly string five words together about them."

Lassiter's eyes darted between the two Spencers before turning to Juliet, who was eyeing Shawn with a suspicious glare. "I'd love to, but listen, O'Hara, we really need to get back down to the station and run those names through the system."

"Right. Well, it was nice to meet you Bonnie. Give me a call after the baby's born and we'll come down again." Lassiter didn't look like he planned to make that trip, but he nodded anyway, acutely sensing agreeing would get him out of there faster.

"Henry, it was nice to finally meet my father-in-law," Juliet said as she brushed a kiss across Henry's cheek.

"Likewise. I hope we can all get together soon."

"Of course, we'd love that, right sweetie?" She turned a clenched smile on Shawn and managed. "Shawn, honey, do you want to walk down to the elevator with me." Without waiting for an answer she headed out the door.

Lassiter did a 180 and called over his shoulder, "I'll meet you downstairs in the lobby."

"Okay," Juliet called after him, taking a few more steps away from Gus' room to make sure they were out of line of sight.

"Shawn!" she hissed.

"I thought you were going to talk to your dad."

"I did!"

Shawn!"

"Sort of," Shawn amended. "We haven't had a chance to really go over everything, you know, in depth."

Jules stabbed him with a disbelieving look.

"Well, look, he knows he has grandchildren. He knows we're married. What more do you want?"

"Does he know the whole story?"

"Why does he have to?"

Juliet huffed. "You've had six weeks Shawn." She moved a few more paces down the hall. "Why are you being like this?"

"Being like what, Jules?"

"Distant. Shawn, it's obvious your dad wants to be a part of your life. Why are you shutting him out?"

Shawn stepped away angrily, before turning back again.

"I—I don't know, okay? I just don't think I can do this again. They were dead. Dead, Jules. I had ten years to accept it, and I finally did. And now…now I'm just supposed to forget everything that happened in the last ten years and be a son again? And Gus? Jesus, Jules, I don't know what the hell to do about Gus. He hasn't been apart of my life for so long that I have to actually consciously think about working him into my life. Both of them. And you know what I've worked out? That it's easier to just go on believing their dead."

"Well of course it's easier. You won't work on any of the hard stuff. But easier doesn't make it better, Shawn. And you've got more than yourself to think about here." Shawn sighed and looked away, sensing Juliet approach forward.

"You've got at least three reasons to put things right with your dad, Shawn. Gus, too. Soon to be four reasons. You need to do it for them, Shawn. And me, and most importantly, you need to do it for yourself. Because no matter how much you've gotten your life on track, you're still lost without them."

"I don't need them, Jules. I have you. That's enough. And our kids. You guys mean more to me than either of them."

"Then do it for us then. Me and your children." She gently grasped his hand and placed it on her stomach. Shawn's fingers gently traced the swell of her belly. "For this one, who has the opportunity to be the first Spencer baby to greet his grandfather with his first cry."

Silence reigned as Juliet waited for Shawn to answer. Shawn swept his fingers back and forth over Jules' stomach. Finally he heaved another sigh.

"Fine. For you," he stated. "And the kids."

"Thank you," Juliet breathed. She let go of his hand stepped into his embrace.

"But I'll be damned if my dad is in the delivery room with us. He can sit his cranky ass out in the waiting room. Gus, too."

He felt Juliet smile against his cheek, and pulled her tighter against him. "Okay," she agreed, sliding her hands up and down his back. She placed a soft kiss on his cheek and pulled away. Shawn let her go, watching as she moved away from him. She gave a watery smile as she turned to jab at the button that would take her to the ground floor.

"Shawn," she called, finger hesitating.

"Yeah, Jules?"

"Are you really happy about the baby?" she asked, watching as her finger pressed against the lobby button. She glanced up quickly. Shawn hesitated.

"Yeah, Jules. Of course I'm happy about the baby."

Her smile brightened a bit.

"Love you," she called as the doors started sliding shut.

"Love you too," he murmured, his reply already drowned out by the _whoosh_ of the doors.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

I live for reviews. It makes it worth it to keep going with this story.


	9. Chapter 9

Like a voyeur, Henry watched his son and "new" daughter-in-law exchange words

Like a voyeur, Henry watched his son and "new" daughter-in-law exchange words. He didn't know Juliet well enough to fully understand her body-language, but he was an astute enough observer to realize her gestures and countenance suggested extreme irritation with the man before her. Shawn, whose behaviors and gestures Henry had a doctorate in, was definitely irked, but it didn't seem like his bad mood was directed at his wife.

He watched as Juliet reached for Shawn's hand and placed it on her pregnant stomach. Whatever was bothering him, and Henry had his guesses, it was clear to Henry that before his son even nodded his acquiescence to whatever Juliet had asked of him, he was going to give in to his wife.

Henry stepped back, feeling like a peeping tom as he averted his eyes from the embrace that shortly followed, but just as he was about to duck back into the hospital room something registered in his mind that froze him midway to his destination.

A gun.

He had seen a gun.

Holstered in the small of his son's back.

It was hidden beneath his son's clothes, the bulge the firearm created covered by the layers of clothing, and the leather riding jacket his son wore. But still, he was sure of it. It had only been a brief flirtation, but he was certain he had seen the muzzle nestled there when Juliet had rubbed her hands over her husband's back, mussing the shirt tail covering it.

Shawn was carrying a gun.

He barely registered the couple separating, moving away from his observation spot and towards the elevator as they offered up one last goodbye to each other.

A gun.

Already, Henry's mind was swimming with the possible implications of this new development.

Shawn hated guns. Henry knew that. Knew that because while Shawn had demonstrated remarkable skill with firearms, he had been just as vocal about his distaste for using them. He could clearly remember the relief on Shawn's face when he had finally hung up his gun, a newly retired former detective of the SBPD. And he could remember every wayward comment illuminating the fact that Shawn had no plans to ever take up arms.

But he had. Henry was positive. It had only been the briefest of glimpses, but the gun resting against his son's back had been a black-steeled, semi-automatic. So why was it there?

_I have changed. You should probably get used to it._

The words reverberated inside his skull. That comment, the guarded look in his son's eyes, the total avoidance of any discussion about his son's job, the lack of any pictures in his wallet of the wife and children he had, and now this.

He lifted his head and stared down the hallway where his son and daughter-in-law had stood just moments before. Saying goodbye like they were two people who were bound to spend more than just a few hours separated.

And that reunion. Carefully restrained, but there had been no mistaking the look in his son's eyes. Painful hunger. Desperation, and an aching longing. Surprise at Juliet's condition—or, perhaps more accurately, how pronounced her condition. Not the reaction of a husband who experienced the changes in his wife's body everyday as she grew with the pregnancy. They had not been together for awhile.

Did that mean they were separated, going through marital problems? Shawn had seemed reluctant to discuss the new baby due to arrive, but then again he had been pretty reluctant to discuss any of his children, at least with his father and Gus. But he had talked readily enough about Juliet when pressed, and judging by the scene he just witnessed and his son's ever present gaze once his wife entered his field of vision, Shawn was still very much in love with his wife.

Yet, they clearly had been apart. How long? Henry thought back to several weeks ago, when Shawn had left a message with the hotel concierge that he would be out of town. It was right after their own "reunion" and a not entirely unexpected Shawn maneuver, although given the circumstances of their separation, a disappointing one. His first instinct was always to run when things got complicated. But had he done so, knowingly leaving his expectant wife and family behind while he escaped from the pressures now facing him?

Henry tried to recall that moment in the police station when he had first laid eyes on his son after ten long years. He could not recall any presence of a sidearm, did not remember brushing his hands against it as he held his son, but truthfully Henry had only been aware that his son was standing before him, looking both familiar and completely unrecognizable. He had not been paying attention to suspicious looking bulges under his kid's clothing.

So what did that leave? Why would Shawn be in possession of a gun? By his own admission, Shawn had said he wasn't involved with the SBPD any longer, and by all accounts that statement had been supported by those still employed by that institution. It had been hinted at, though, that Shawn hadn't completely given up the ghost.

So just what, exactly, was he involved in?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Enjoy the show?" Shawn snapped irritably at finding his father standing out in the hallway.

His father jumped noticeably. "What?"

"Never mind," Shawn replied darkly. Just because he had given in to Juliet's request, did not mean he was happy about it. Reconciling with his dad had been hard enough ten years ago, without all the mess that ensued between then and now to sort through. It didn't help matters when the new, intensely private Shawn retraced his steps only to find his father standing out in the hall like some voyeur.

His dad meanwhile looked lost in thought, brow furrowed deep as he mulled over some complicated question in his mind. Shawn could only guess what, but he was reasonably sure whatever it was, he didn't want to hear it. It was undoubtedly something to do with him.

"So that was your wife," his father offered after a long moment of silence. "She seems nice. Competent."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Glad to see she measures up to your impossibly high standards."

"I liked her," Henry defended. "Plus, she seems like she can keep you in line and God knows that takes some skill."

Shawn snorted but offered no further rebuttal. "Glad you approve," he sniped.

"You know," Henry ventured carefully, "maybe when this is all said and done tonight, you and I and Juliet can maybe grab a quick dinner, if it's not too late. Talk some more."

Shawn stiffened, already knowing what topics his dad had in mind to discuss. Juliet would probably only be too happy to assist in the discussion. Shawn was pretty sure under the combined onslaught he would crumble or storm out of the interrogation. Probably the latter, and that would only upset Jules more, and things were already a bit strained between them with the latest unexpected addition to their family and the two other wayward members that suddenly popped up out of thin air.

"I don't know, dad. I really got to be getting back. I can't wait here forever on Gus' baby. It doesn't seem like it's in any great hurry."

"Oh, that's right. Your job," his dad replied. "At the video mart, was it?"

"Yup," Shawn replied warily. "Got some restocking to do, new videos to put out, that sort of thing."

"Right," Henry agreed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now which video mart was that?"

Shawn shifted restlessly. _Uh-oh._ Well, not that he expected his dad to believe that load of bull, but he was hoping it would be enough to put his dad off the job/career discussion. He should have known that was a lost cause.

Shawn sighed.

Henry raised his eyebrow expectantly.

"You don't work for the video mart." He stated. "So quit bull-shitting me, kid."

"Why do you care where I work?"

"Why are you so reluctant to talk about it?"

"Because I don't want to talk about it!"

"Why?"

"Because I don't!"

"Oh, that's a reason. Fine. Maybe you'd rather talk about why you're carrying a concealed weapon under your jacket. Let's discuss that."

"What?!"

Both Spencers jerked their heads to the sound of Gus' squeak.

Perfect. Now Gus was involved in the discussion. Could this night get any better?

"Shawn?" Gus asked, taking a step forward. Henry just waited.

"What?" Shawn snapped.

"Is that true?"

Shawn looked at Gus, taking in his earnest expression, feeling light-years away from fulfilling whatever longstanding notion Gus had about him and guns. It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it, to let Gus go on believing, let himself go on believing, that things hadn't changed so much that what was once impossible to consider was now fact.

"You are," Gus answered his own question softly. "You are, aren't you? I remember—I thought I saw you—it was so quick though—when you came in you were pretty far behind us—no, you made sure to stay behind us. You put as much distance between us as you could—you timed it, didn't you?—waited until Henry and I were busy sorting out where we should be. But when you hit the metal detectors down in the lobby they went off. I remember hearing them."

He took another hesitant step forward. "I almost didn't notice. When I looked your back was to me. You turned around, and you flashed them something, didn't you? What was it? A badge? And they let it go.

"I can't believe it," Gus continued. "You always hated guns, Shawn. Always said you would never do anything that required you to be in possession of one."

Yes, a long time ago, that had been true. He had said that. And believed it. He did hate them, but like everything else in his life his view on guns took a dramatic turn. He still didn't really like them, would have preferred never getting involved with them, much less being in possession of one, but the idea of ever being able to do his job without one was impossible to contemplate. Guns were a fact of his job. And while he avoided as much as he was capable of ever introducing them into an assignment, he was no longer so naïve to ever think he could completely avoid using one. And he couldn't deny the security he felt knowing it was near should a situation arise where it was needed.

He had no idea how to even start articulating this to Gus, though. Gus was still staring at him with that wide-eyed gaze of disbelief. He felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny, for the first time maybe ashamed of what he had allowed his life to become. He was so far from what he set out to be. Of what he imagined his life to be like at forty when he had been a restless and naïve twenty year-old with an entirely different world view, even growing up as the son of a no-nonsense hardened homicide detective.

The idea that he had let Gus down, disappointed him, was difficult to deal with, and the guilt he felt morphed into something more comfortable for him to handle: anger.

His jaw hardened and he looked up feeling an unreasonable fury grip him. Gus and his father were watching him expectantly. What did they want him to do? Fess up? Apologize? Yeah, so he was carrying a concealed weapon. The admission would hardly mollify either of them, and he didn't feel like explaining himself. Fuck, why should he have to explain himself?

They died.

And left him to deal with the fall out.

And he did.

Fuck them.

Fuck them both and their sad little stares. He didn't need them. Jules was wrong. His life was just fine without them.

Shawn very carefully, features schooled in cherubic nonchalance, glanced away, noted the distance behind him to the door. Five long strides and he could be through it, down the stairs and halfway to the first floor landing before they could even finish shouting out his name. He had the advantage here; the layout of this wing and the hospital burned into a memory that never failed him even when he had fervently wished it too.

He turned his head back to the two men before him. They were clearly expecting him to address their supposition. And what if he did? _Fuck, yeah, it's a gun. A Sig Sauer 228 sidearm, standard issue for all DEA agents. And if you like that, I have a Glock 19 back in L.A. that will really impress you. There's also a Sig P226 I've been thinking about. Jules already has one, though, for her job, so I'm trying to decide if I really need it. Maybe I'll go a 9mm Beretta, instead._

He could imagine their reaction--almost laughed out loud at the image of Gus' open mouth, bobbing like a fish gasping for air.

Except Gus wasn't looking at him with that expression. He was looking at him as if he barely recognized the man before.

And Shawn was _sick_ of that look. He'd seen it too many times in his own reflection.

He sneered, the only expression he was able to pull off with the burbling sensation in his gut.

"Well. This has been fun, hasn't it?" he said, "but I really need to get back to work. And I'm sure Bonnie's wondering where you are." He was almost there, two more steps and he'd make it.

He heard the call of his name as the door to the stairwell clicked shut behind him.

He kept going.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: there's a portion here in the latter half of this chapter which merited my original M rating. It's not that scandalous, but in case, it does hint at sexual impropriety. Just be warned.

Also, thank you everyone who has taken the time to review. You have no idea how much it means to me--unless you're a fellow writer. Then you know! :)

0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o

"Why Shawn?"

Of course his dad would follow. Had he really expected anything else?

"Why what?" He replied stubbornly, rounding the landing.

"Why are you running?" Gus put in.

And of course Gus would follow, too.

"Who says I'm running. Maybe I just felt like getting some air." Out in the parking lot, in his car, maybe 80 miles south of here, perhaps. L.A. and his crappy apartment. He was actually missing that place right now. That was a first.

"The veranda's on the fifth floor."

Shawn sighed loudly. "I'm not going to the veranda, Gus."

"You said you wanted air."

Shawn rounded the third landing.

"I can't smoke on the veranda."

"You smoke?!"

Crap. He'd forgotten to mention that, too. Not like it was a habit, just every now and then when he needed it.

"If I say yes, will you let it go?"

"No!"

"Then no, I don't smoke. It's bad for your lungs." _But great for helping you stay awake on long assignments and relieving stress, and providing a nice welcome excuse for stepping out._

"I can't believe it, you smoke, too?"

Shawn quickly made a right and pushed open an almond colored metal door. Skipping lightly down the stairs he proceeded to the first floor landing.

"Why not? Goes with the gun, right Shawn?"

_More than you know, dad._

"What's a little nicotine habit among the hundred other secrets he's been keeping." His dad put in, sounding right behind him. Still pretty agile for an old guy, Shawn noted.

"And another thing: how is it you know the layout of this place so well?"

"I can read a directory map, dad."

"No, that's not it. Just how long was your wife in here? Did something happen with one of your kids?"

"Drop it, dad," Shawn warned.

"I mean, it's not just the layout, it's the staff, too. They're all way to personable for someone who's only in for a day or two at the most having a baby, even if they've been here three times. That nurse—both of them—they knew quite a few details about your kids."

"Maybe I told them about my kids."

Gus snorted rudely. "Not willingly."

"Maybe Jules has a big mouth."

"No, that's not it," his dad insisted. "Does it have something to do with your job, is that why you don't want to talk about it, about them? Why are you carrying a concealed weapon, Shawn?" He sounded slightly out of breath as they finally reached the final door. Shawn reached for the handle and pulled, only to have his dad slap his palm against the door.

"Why Shawn?"

"I'm licensed to carry concealed," Shawn muttered. So much for trying to run, or even pretending he wasn't carrying a weapon at all. He yanked on the door handle again. His father leaned into it.

"By who?" And Shawn could hear the height in Gus' eyebrows as he uttered that statement.

"The federal government."

"You work for the FBI?" Gus gasped.

"No. Would you please let go of the door," Shawn turned an accusing eye on his dad. He jerked on the handle pointedly. Henry pointedly ignored him.

"Not the FBI. Then who?" his dad said instead. Shawn signed and looked down. He turned as if to head back up the stairs. Both Henry and Gus lurched with him, and more importantly away from the door.

Shawn whipped around and slipped through the narrow opening seamlessly. "Thank you!" he called back, knowing it was too much to hope that they weren't still following.

"The CIA?" Gus asked.

"What? God. No Gus."

"US Marshals?" His dad asked.

"ATF?"

"No."

"Homeland Security?"

"No, I'm not Jack Bauer, Gus."

Two thirds a corridor to go and he would be out the door. And Gus at least couldn't follow him. He wouldn't leave his pregnant wife. So that just left his dad. And he could outrun him if he had to.

"DEA?"

_Bingo. We have a winner! Henry Spencer let me tell you what you've won! _

Finally. Sweet freedom.

He slipped through the door and stepped out onto the smooth concrete. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell that came off the ocean, even here, mixing with the antiseptic hospital aroma. Henry and Gus paused with him, their mind-numbing ever-present stares fixed on his face. The fatigue that had been dogging him even before arriving here was back again with a vengeance. Fighting it, his dad, Gus, Jules, everything—he felt ready to collapse under the barrage. He had just come off a big bust, the culmination of five weeks of careful planning, infiltrating, networking, and aligning. He could never sleep before a bust, and the hours following it were slow and yet chaotic. It worked his eidetic mind for days beyond as well as before and leading to the initial bust.

And while he wouldn't admit to having a nicotine habit, it got more and more evident that he was relying more on just coffee and his own adrenaline.

Fuck, he didn't know how he ever got started on those things, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

He lived to tell about it, anyway, and despite the fact that cigarettes may kill him in the long run, it was only the short term he had been concerned with. And bullet to the head trumps cancer any day in the death race.

So almost without thinking, he reached into his pockets and found the lighter and smashed pack of Marlboros and lit one within seconds. He took a long drag off it, feeling that tiredness crushing him, a rush of lifeless energy sagging his limbs. It was always like this when he lit one up, the darkness before the light, so to speak. Generally after the second one he started feeling the nicotine working.

He opened his eyes. Gus was still staring. His dad was wearing an expression he was long familiar with. Its return was not a welcome sight to Shawn.

Fuck. Why did he have to get into all this now?

Why hadn't he hung up on Gus when he had called, or told him he was busy and congrats and good luck with the new baby, but see you never?

Why had he told dad about Jules and the kids?

It was messing with his reasoning, the fatigue. He knew better damn it.

He took another drag on his cigarette and exhaled a few moments later. Gus unsuccessfully stifled a cough.

"DEA?" his dad repeated, but the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice said he already knew. Shawn blew out another cloud of smoke and turned away. He glanced at Gus out of the corner of his eye, noting the look of utter disbelief on his face as he watched his best friend work his way through his death stick, as they used to call them. The look on Gus' face blatantly said he barely recognized who the man in front of him was anymore.

Yeah, well join the fucking club.

He took one last long drag on his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, sticking a foot out to crush the amber flame that flickered in the ash.

"Good luck with the new baby."

And with that, he stepped away from the curb and made his way through the parking lot to his car.

And for once, neither Gus nor his dad followed.

He wanted to be relieved.

He wasn't.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

This place really was a dive.

One room, the smell of something rotting...something that spoiled and died decades ago, yet still stubbornly persisted as the stench remained despite repeated cleanings. Dark no matter how many lamps were connected to wall sockets, and there were only six anyway, and two were buried by a massive entertainment center that sported partially hooked coaxial cables jutting from the wall like demented tentacles but no electronics. One couch that Shawn was sure would light up with human remains if ever put under a black light, which was why he always kept it covered with a fugly plaid sheet he had picked up from some discount mass merchant. A bland, gray metal desk, with matching chair with the vinyl covering the seat held together by random splotches of duct tape. One tiny dining table with two chairs, half covered with magazines, and the even tinier kitchenette littered with takeout boxes and bags, perfect for the roaches that infested this place to scurry and hide under.

The roaches were there when he first moved in, and as the song went, would be there long after he was gone. There was no trash hoop, no plasma tv—it surely would have been stolen within minutes of being anchored on the wall--and no pictures of the wife and kids he so desperately missed.

His neighbor on the right was a crack whore. His neighbor to the left was some sort of street thug, who was rarely ever home unless he was banging one of the hos he had found willing down on the street in front of their apartment complex. They were dedicated to this particular address, and more than once Shawn had been propositioned by several of the ladies, all of which possessed at least one missing tooth, or a gold tooth, a pair of hooker heels, and size two wal-mart lingerie stretched over their size 14 bodies. He never answered, just smiled wanly and carried his by then aching body up the two flights of stairs to his home sweet home when he was forced to be away from his wife and kids.

Jules had visited him here once, unexpectedly, having followed him to this shit hole one day after they had wound up unexpectedly sharing a case.

He had never been more ashamed of his life and what he was doing until he saw his beautiful wife against this disgusting background, this dank and dark and uninviting place. It surely wasn't something that Jules had never seen before—what with her experience as a cop, but for the first time Shawn had felt like he was apart of it, that he was tainting her in some way by living here. When he had first taken this place, he hadn't been involved with Jules—well he had been involved, but it had only been that one fateful night, and he had still been completely unaware of how fateful it was.

He hadn't cared that it was a shitty dive. In fact, that time in his life so black, he had almost welcomed it. It worked. It was what he needed, and he was only willing to do the basics, he wasn't going to waste time and energy with creating some swingin' bachelor pad.

Now though, back here, looking at it, he wished not for the first time that he had picked something else.

He could still move, he supposed. Not the Taj Mahal, but someplace a little nicer. Maybe not with crack whores, and gangsters, and pimps right out his front door.

It still worked though.

Disgusting as it was. It still worked for what he needed. Close to work, non descript, a place to lay his head for a while.

He threw his gun, still secured in its holster onto the couch cushions and dropped bonelessly into his desk chair.

The drive back into L.A. had been a nightmare, the normally seventy-five minute drive taking over two and a half hours. It didn't help that his eidetic memory kept replaying back everything that transpired at the hospital. In between that, were things that kept niggling him about his current case, and on top of all that, he couldn't keep his mind from wandering to Jules and his family.

This was just getting harder and harder to do. He didn't know when it had gotten so difficult so fast, but suddenly he was overwhelmed trying to live the life he was currently ensconced in.

It was the job.

The fucking job. That's what it always came down to.

He couldn't keep doing this. He knew that. Deep down, he knew things were going to come to a point—he was going to have to make a decision about his life, and his chosen career. And worse, he was going to have to explain it to his dad. Some men could do the job and have a family and a wife, but it was clear the job took precedence. Those wives had resigned themselves to the fact that if push came to shove, they would find themselves a lowly second or third in the pecking order of their husbands' priorities. He didn't want to do that to Jules. Having a family reminded him of why he had been so hell bent on not turning out like his father—he remembered the sacrifices his dad had made for his job at the expense of his family—or worse his mother, who had decided pursuing her career was more important than pursuing motherhood.

And if he wasn't going to do that to Jules and his kids, than that meant he was going to have to quit. Get serious about getting out and…

Do what?

Be a fake psychic detective again?

No chance of that. He had burned that bridge ten years ago, tossing back vodka shooters as he fanned the flames of his career suicide as he expounded drunkenly on why the SBPD couldn't find its own ass—was that how he had compared it?—without his help. And that was why they had never been able to see that the psychic they had come to rely on and trust was anything but.

Likewise, he could forget about even a basic P.I. business.

Most of what had transpired that night he got drunk and toasted his burgeoning police consultant career had been kept quiet—from the media and other outlets, but his comments had left a bad taste in the mouth of some of the SBPD officers, and he doubted he could spring much hope in taking up detective work, even as a P.I. in light of that.

Plus, it would just seem…fake.

And despite the fact that he worked for nearly three years as a fake psychic detective, going about his business as just an ordinary P.I. seemed even faker than the whole psychic consultant gig had ever been.

Like he was trying too hard to recreate something that had long since died.

Christ he needed a drink. He knew without looking that the he didn't have anything in his grime coated fridge. Nothing he would risk drinking after three weeks away, anyway. Not even a beer in there. He had tried to lay off the alcohol after he had sobered up those ten years ago.

He reached into his pockets again, fingering the silver lighter and flattened pack of cigarettes.

He didn't feel like one of those either. He was so damned tired. He took one out and lit it anyway, inhaling deeply, trying desperately to put his mind at ease. The action only served to dredge up more memories from the hospital, namely the look Gus had given him when he watched his best friend--former best friend?—take a hit off something they both had found disgusting since first experimenting with them as teenagers. For Gus it had only been that one time, for Shawn…it had been never. Seeing Gus do it when they were kids and the reaction he had had been enough to convince Shawn that it wasn't an endeavor worth pursuing.

And yet somehow thirty-plus years later that's exactly what he had wound up doing. He had been tired then, too. Dead tired, unable to focus, keep his mind on the job, and stay awake. He had been running himself ragged for two years then, pushing forward when his body just wanted to stop. He had been afraid to give into that urge though, afraid if he did stop he would never want to start up again. His father's and best friend's deaths were too hard to deal with, and he wasn't dealing with them at all then anyway. Physically and mentally running, so when his contact on that particular case had offered a drag, he had hardly hesitated. Just mindlessly accepted. The gun holstered on the hip of his contact was a nice incentive to comply, too. A refusal, a wrong response, could evoke a violent reaction, and his contact was twitchy enough from whatever other drugs were mingling in his body. Accepting a smoke was definitely the safest way to go.

It had worked out in the long run, he supposed. More than once he had been grateful to have had the excuse of stepping out for a smoke; it also leant a bit of authenticity to his various covers, too.

He took another pull off the cigarette and leaned back, and shut his eyes. Jules soon filled his mind, her soft smile and grey-blue eyes serious and compassionate. She was in his arms, lips soft and sweet, open and wanting, permitting him to take advantage, and in his mind, he did, slipping his tongue in her mouth and sliding careful hands under loose clothing. She moaned in his mouth and he slid his hands up her front and squeezed and got another breathless moan in return. This was why they had four children. She was so receptive to his touches. Once she started responding to him, it wasn't going anywhere but to one-hundred-percent-satisfied-for-both-parties-involved completion.

Inhaling another lungful of smoke, Shawn carefully unbuckled his pants and slid his zipper down.

Even without an active co-participant, they would both still wind up satisfied. His mind would make sure of it.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Shawn smoking--way out of character, but when I originally conceived this story that was one of the first things I thought of.

Reviews are appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

"You call this dive a home?"

Shawn whirled, hand going to the sidearm at his back, the other still holding the key to the lock on his door. Behind him the sounds of the city coming to life penetrated his ears. He fixed incredulous eyes on his target, an unimpressed, scowling, pissed off Henry.

"Don't bother, kid," He growled, arms crossed over his chest, those police-issued ray-bans he had donned ages ago while still a detective looking timeless and imposing on a not quite as timeless face.

"How did you find me?"

"So this is where you spend your days and weeks, huh? Jesus, Shawn. What, you couldn't fight the dope fiend in the alley for the cardboard box he sleeps in?"

"What are you doing here?!"

"I thought we could talk, Shawn."

"I have to get to work, dad. I don't have time to chat."

"You don't report to work until 8 a.m. and it's 6:27 a.m. Shawn. Now, normally I'd check you into the nearest mental hospital being up this early, but apparently, it's just one more drop in the bucket for you. Besides, you typically stop at Lola's diner at Pike and Broadview for breakfast no later than 7:00 a.m each day and since I haven't eaten anything yet, I'd be happy to join you."

Shawn somehow managed to close his mouth and return his attention back to the task of locking his door. He tried to summon an excuse, or a way to escape, but questions clouded his mind, fighting for dominance. He turned back to his dad and he knew it was pointless to run. Henry would turn up just when he thought he had escaped him, no matter where he was.

They were going to talk. Henry was bound and determined. All Shawn would commit to was the certainty that some words would surely be exchanged between them.

"I'll drive," Henry said and indicated Shawn should lead the way.

Shawn sighed. "Where are you parked?"

"Right in front of the storage facility you use to store your bike."

Of course. Why did he even ask?

They both trumbled loudly down the stairs, stepping over the sleeping and/or passed out bodies littering the stairwell. Shawn nodded his hellos to a couple of the bums he had befriended, their bleary eyes taking in the imposing form of his father before the sleepiness induced by hardship, drink, and drugs reclaimed them.

Shawn slipped his jacket on, the morning air in L.A. unseasonably cool. Behind him, Henry said nothing, but Shawn could feel his watchful gaze burning a hole in his back, could feel the tension radiating off of him. Shawn idly entertained the idea of veering sharply off course, sprinting for the hills so to speak, but he was pretty sure before he got two steps into his run that his father would snatch him and throw him to the ground. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised to see a pair of cuffs materialize out of thin air and snap around his wrists.

His cell phone rang, and Shawn pressed it to his ear as he turned left onto Pike and proceeded to the warehouse, located two blocks down. Despite the short distance it was from his apartment, the area was a marked improvement from the skid row he called his home.

"Lo?"

"Spencer?"

"Yeah, Charlie what's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know Pete Kwiatkowski made a deal with the DA for protection in exchange for some pretty damning testimony."

"Suddenly he wants to talk?"

"Yeah, it seems he's pretty stuck on this Karina—trying to get her into witness protection with him."

"Yeah, that's his daughter from his second marriage. Mother was murdered by a competitor who thought he could bully Pete into doing what he wanted."

"Yeah, well, it turns out there was quite a bit to this operation. He's pointing fingers at some key players in the crack business. We've already got our next job lined up."

"Well, sign me up."

"Yeah, about that. I hear your dad resurfaced."

"Yeah—wait. How the hell did you hear about that?"

"Seems like a hell of a guy. I can see where you get it from."

"Get what? Wait! How did—did you two meet?"

"Do me a favor, Spencer, and don't be too hard on him. Listen to what he has to say. Enjoy your breakfast. I don't expect to see your ass in this office until noon. We'll talk about the case later."

"Wait, Charlie—" but Shawn's protestation was only answered by the telltale click of a call being disconnected.

Shawn spun around to glare at his dad. "You and Charlie met, I take it?"

"Your boss down at the DEA?" Henry shook his head. "No."

"What?! Then how did you—"

"I met a junior detective McNab down at the station of the SBPD."

What? McNab didn't know anything.

"Not real informative," Henry continued, "but he did reveal, under a lot of pressure, that they often co-opped with the DEA's office for busts, and that naturally, you tended to resurface from oblivion to be apart of them. That was about all the useful information he had to offer when your wife appeared to rescue him." Henry rounded the bumper of a decrepit old relic, similar to his rusted out Ford F-150 he had had ten years ago. This truck had slightly less rust, but what it lacked there it made up for in multi-color panels. Shawn stared at it in disbelief. Henry looked over the roof of the cab at him.

"She was far more helpful." Shawn snapped his attention back to his father. "She told me that you stayed in an apartment here in L.A. while on assignment, and if I wanted to catch you the best time would be before work, when you stopped by Lola's diner for breakfast. She also said to tell you not to forget to pick up Jamie's T-ball uniform from Chong's cleaners when you come home."

"And you got my whole routine, my—this—" here Shawn indicated the storage facility he used for his bike—"from that one little tidbit."

"No, not all. But hell Shawn, you keep forgetting who taught you everything you know. The rest I could reason out on my own."

"Reason out?" Shawn echoed disbelievingly.

"Yeah, well, Lassiter might have supplied some help in the detective work."

"Lassiter." Of course, who else to sell him out gleefully. He couldn't get over Jules' contribution though.

"I don't think your wife is very happy with you," his dad commented as though reading his thoughts. He unlocked the doors and slid into the driver's seat. Shawn slammed his door shut with a little more force than necessary. "Be careful, kiddo. She stays unhappy long enough, you're going to wind up a divorced detective, too."

"Just drive."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Gus' baby arrived screaming and squalling at 1:04 a.m, by the way. 10 fingers, 10 toes, perfectly healthy." His dad offered up that little tidbit after the waitress had brought by their drinks. They were seated in a booth at Lola's, waiting for their food to arrive. The ride there had been conducted in silence, and other than placing their orders and Shawn exchanging a few pleasantries with the waitress, Stacy, so had the wait for the food.

"1:04? Glad I didn't wait around for that."

"You should have. Gus would have for you."

"Dad—"

"No, Shawn, listen. I get that you've got a different set of responsibilities than what you used to, but you've known Gus a long time. You owed it to him as a friend to be there."

"I owed it to him?"

"Yes."

"He died. 10 years ago. At least, that's what everybody told me. And he failed to mention at the station he was hitched and expecting so excuse me if I didn't clear my calendar for him. I was a little busy trying to nail some crack-dealing SOBs to the wall." He leaned back abruptly, his dad mimicking the motion on his side of the table, as Stacy placed their orders in front of them. His father uttered a thank you and leaned forward.

"Failed to mention? You didn't give him time to mention! You were out the door as soon as Jansen wrapped up his story. When did he have the chance to tell you anything about his life, Shawn? When did any of us? And don't hand me that line about work, Shawn, Juliet said you wouldn't have even picked up the phone if you were still involved with your case."

Shawn stabbed a diced cube of ham from his omelette angrily.

"Why _did_ you pick up the phone, Shawn? If you didn't want to talk to him, if you didn't want to talk to any of us, why did you?"

"I don't know," he mumbled, stabbing another piece.

"You don't know?" he dad repeated, disbelief evident.

"Yeah, I don't know, okay? The phone rang, and I just answered it. I couldn't even recognize who was on the other end at first. Somebody blathering on at a hundred miles an hour. It took me a few seconds to even realize it was Gus." He didn't mention that halfway through the rambling he had felt his gut pinch in slow realization. The tone, the rapid speech, he had known, had recognized the excited tenor of his former best friend. So much so that an involuntary "Gus?" had slipped past his lips before he could stop it, hang up, or make some excuse in a screechy alto that sorry, buddy, but you had the wrong number. It had been Lassiter then, too, that had sold him out and given Gus his cell phone number.

And Gus had answered, had left _Shawn_ reeling to catch up, to try to decipher from the inane speech he was receiving just what the hell was going on. And before he had even knew it he had somehow agreed to meet Gus and his dad at the hospital. Gus had hung up before Shawn even had a chance to realize what he had just agreed to.

Shawn had dumbly proceeded to get into his car and drive to Santa Barbara, so busy trying to wrap his mind around Gus being a parent that he didn't think to try to call him back to back out of it until he was three quarters of the way there.

"So why'd you agree to meet us there, then?"

"I. Don't. Know. Okay? _I don't know!_ I don't know why I met you there. I don't know why I told you about my kids, and my wife, and my life! I DON'T KNOW! I don't know about ANY of this! Everything is so fucked up, and you're all looking at me like I have all the answers!"

Shawn threw his fork on his plate, eliciting a loud clatter before it bounced off the plate onto the floor. He realized several heads had turned to track the source of the noise and were now staring at him curiously.

He tried for a tight smile, and couldn't even manage that, settling instead for a pointed scowl that sent most of the gawking patrons back to their own conversations.

"I know kid," his dad said quietly. "But I didn't just decide to reinsert myself into your life just to mess with it. And I didn't go into protection all those years ago to spin you on your axis." Shawn closed his eyes wearily.

"You matter to me, kid." Shawn opened his eyes. "You're my only son, hell, my only child. I couldn't lose you to those assholes, not if I could help it, and I could. And it was the best way to keep Gus safe too. You guys were in way too deep with that case."

"Do you have any idea what losing the both of you did to me?"

"Straightened your ass out, from what I can tell."

Shawn gripped the table edge tightly, squeezing off the blood to his fingertips. "Straightened me out?"

"Yeah, look at you. You've got a full time job, a house, a wife, children, an education."

Shawn stared unblinkingly, processing the words slowly, before he spoke.

"I fathered a baby, dad, that I didn't even know about until almost three years after the fact.

"Jules and I didn't even get married until five years ago. I had to buy the house because there's no way that she and I and Jamie could ever fit into her apartment, much less Michael who we were expecting. And I had promised her that things would be different once we settled down together. I went to school because I had too, and because it suited my interests by keeping me near Jules when Michael was born. The only thing I cared about was nailing those fucking assholes that had killed you and Gus and if it meant going to college, or using a gun, or dying, it didn't matter as long as I got the last laugh on those guys.

"I spent every waking moment tracking after them, assignment after assignment. Those first two years, after you—after the—_after_—I was either drunk with rage or booze or both. I submarined _psych_ not even two days after they buried you and Gus. Then spent the next six months flitting around trying to get a line on those assholes. Got pretty stupid about it, too. Almost got my head shot off at one point; it was close thing let me tell you. And you know what? I wouldn't have given a _damn_ if I had. I quit living the day you and Gus died. I pushed everyone close to me away—_drove _them away. I was an all-around asshole only focused on one thing: screwing the cartel just liked they screwed me. Honestly, I don't even know how I wasn't arrested for some of the shit I pulled. Lassiter, probably," he reasoned, his eyes drifting for a moment in contemplation. They refocused hard and angry on their target.

"Straightened out, huh?" here Shawn gave a laugh, embittered and resentful. "I was more fucked up then than I ever was as a teenager, but hey, I can see where it all looks like sunshine and roses from your side."

"Shawn," Henry said quietly, but then faltered, unsure where to go next with his comment. He had so many questions about what had just been revealed to him. No, truthfully, he hadn't expected Shawn to deal very well with his and Gus' deaths, Gus' definitely, but even Henry had recognized that Shawn would undoubtedly feel the pang of loss over his father. He had hoped, though, that Shawn would be able to move on after a time, overcome the loss and go on with his life, his job. He had wondered about the state of his son's detective agency. Knew without Gus there that it would probably falter. He had half expected to learn that Shawn had quit, that's what he did after all, but he hadn't been expecting the complete fold-up off police work that everyone had indicated.

Actually, in light of his involvement with the DEA, Henry could say he hadn't been wrong. Detective work was in Shawn's blood and nothing could stop it, not even the deaths of two people close to him, but even Henry had to admit it had mutated somehow, residing in its present form of cold, calculating, vengeful precision.

That was the most difficult to reconcile about Shawn. The sharp edges, and there were lots of them.

The silence dragged on between them, Shawn staring at Henry with accusing eyes, waiting for a response. An apology. And even if he got one it would change nothing between them.

Henry tried anyway. "I'm sorry."

Shawn snorted and if it hadn't been for that response Henry would have sworn that Shawn hadn't even heard him. There was no other indication that the words even registered.

"It wasn't easy for me, either. Or Gus. I had to give you up, you know. Completely. Not just one of those things where I take a trip, or you take a trip or we both move somewhere for a while until things cool off between us. I had to give up all contact with you, had to let you go, completely—" Here he almost cracked, almost lost control of his voice, he paused working it under control. "And start all over again, too. I can tell you that after thirty years of having you in my life that it—that it—" and here he did falter. Christ, in a crowded restaurant, too. "It was damn near impossible," he managed.

"Can't say I was overly excited about the situation either. If it hadn't been for Gus—I had to remember to keep going, for him, set an example, you know? He took the relocation—everything—hard. We both just kept reminding each other of how it was best for you, it gave you a chance, too." Henry risked a look at his son and glanced away quickly. "I know how hard it was. I know. There were so many times I almost said 'screw it' to the whole damn thing and leave the program; try to find you again. I tried to keep tabs on you, but you fell off the map pretty quickly and, well, you're not supposed to have any connection to your old life. They cut off my sources pretty quickly. That hurt the most, I think. I thought, even if I wasn't there, as long as I was keeping track, I was kind of watching over you. I know I was just kidding myself. But sometimes, it didn't hurt as badly that way. About six months in, I had lost all tabs on you. Couldn't find so much as a citation for jaywalking about you.

"I wondered if you were dead," Henry admitted softly. "I wondered if those assholes had got to you anyway, despite all I had sacrificed. The inspectors swore that you were alive, even produced a picture of you and your mom together, taken as proof, some trip to Chicago you made with her for a conference or something. That was the last time I ever saw anything of you. That was nine years ago.

"I still kept trying, but it was almost a lost cause. I was forced to move on, too. Found a wonderful woman to settle down with, but that ended after a few years. I kept obsessing about you, and it finally just tore us apart. Gus--Gus, spent most of his days working. Met Bonnie a few years ago. Finally about two years ago he got married—that was a hard day for him, let me tell you. There was no bigger hole in that church than the spot next to him where you should have been. I almost thought he was going to walk out, but he didn't.

"So, no, I wasn't there to see the mess we left you in, but you weren't alone in dealing with it. You weren't the only hurt by it, Shawn. We're all hurting, but we've been afforded a chance most people aren't after a situation like ours. We have the chance to build again. I want to be a part of your life, Shawn. And I want you to be a part of mine."

"And what if I have no room for you in my life anymore?"

Henry flinched, the question eliciting a physical reaction to the emotional pain the question generated. He knew it was going to be difficult, but he had hoped—had counted on, had considered nothing else—that Shawn would want to do the same. After all, even when things had been bad between them, ultimately one or the other would make a gesture, extend an olive branch to the other and slowly they would start the rebuild in their relationship, until the next fallout.

"Okay," Henry whispered, wondering how it could hurt so damn badly to utter those two syllables. "Okay. If that's what you want, then…"

His vision blurred, and Henry quickly glanced down, trying to hide moisture that suddenly clouded his eyes.

Dammit.

Why? Why after everything they'd been through…they were just going to walk away?

"Okay," his dad said again, reaching for his billfold.

"It's just, I don't know how you all fit anymore," Shawn offered haltingly. "There was a big gaping hole for a long time—a _long_ time—where you and Gus used to be and…and I got used to it. And now suddenly you're both here, and the hole, it's not…I don't know…"

"It's okay, Shawn. I understand. I do." He placed a twenty on the table. "If you figure it out, if you want me—us—to be apart of your life—I found a condo, here—" he pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and quickly scribbled an address on a napkin—"that's my new address. You can come by anytime—if you—if you change your mind. I won't—I won't keep bothering you. I know you're busy."

Henry stood, sweeping a ball cap from his back pocket onto his head. He faced his son, who stared unblinkingly at the address Henry had pushed in front of him. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

_Goodbye, Shawn_.


	12. Chapter 12

_AN: We're starting to wind down now--probably only 4-5 more chapters to go. Thank you again for the reviews. Seriously they make my (typically crappy) day. Today was no exception._

_0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o_

_Goodbye, Shawn_.

Two words. That was all he was going to say—and he couldn't get them past his throat. They lodged there, choking him. Christ, and he was not going to cry dammit. _Goodbye_. Two syllables. He should be able to manage it. He pursed his lips around the first syllable and summoned a voice to it. He barely got a "Guh" out before Shawn gripped a hand around his wrist and, with his typical aplomb, said, "I appreciate the _Steel Magnolias _vibe you're channeling, but sit down, dad, before everyone else who isn't looking right now starts."

Henry sat. With no small amount of surprise. Shawn picked up the napkin and fiddled with it. Henry for the first time became aware of the curious glances directed at their table. He was losing his touch, not as observant as he used to be. He scowled menacingly, noting with satisfaction that bodies scrambled to look away. He still had that, at least. Everything else the years had mellowed, but he could still bring it if he had to. He looked at his son, waiting for him to explain. But Shawn seemed less than inclined to explain his confusing behavior. He stared at the address before him, his face devoid of emotion, before heaving a large sigh and looking up.

"It's going to be awkward as hell, you know." Shawn muttered.

"What?"

"Reconciling."

Something unwound deep in Henry's chest. He nodded, his own expression bland. They might as well be discussing the weather.

"Probably. Wouldn't be the first time you and I have tried it, though."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "It's the longest span of time we've had to overcome, though. You've missed so many key events in my life."

"Yeah," Henry agreed.

"Is this along the coast?" Shawn indicated the address.

"Yeah, one of those retirement communities. _Active Adult Communities_ I think they call them. I missed it, fishing. Got a little dock and a pier right across from me."

"That's good." Shawn said after a moment. "I guess you know I sold the house."

"Yeah. Surprised you didn't keep it. You grew up there. Lot of memories."

"Yeah. Too many. I couldn't stay there."

Henry nodded.

"So where do you live now? Besides the crack den I found you at this morning."

"Jules and I have a place on Belmont, over near the new rec center. By Franklin Roberts elementary. That's where Jamie goes to school at," Shawn added.

"That's a nice area."

"Yeah."

"And Jamie—he's the baby you didn't know about?" Henry had to be sure. Shawn smiled wryly.

"Yeah, dad. I haven't been sowing my oats in every city withevery girl I've ever been with."

"Good to know. So…what happened?"

"What do you mean what happened? Are you still in the dark about how babies are made?"

Henry gave him a look. Shawn sighed again and looked away. It was a long time before Shawn spoke, and when he did he kept his gaze averted.

"We—I was still pretty ragged, and I had just accepted an offer with the DEA to go for training in Washington. Jules had heard I was leaving, and she stopped by the night before—and, well, one thing led to another, and I'm sure you can figure out the rest. I left for D.C. the next morning and never looked back. Jules had the baby, and about two years later I'm back in Los Angeles, and I can't resist looking her up. She had been on my mind off and on the whole time I was away. I was in a little bit better place, a little more stable you know? Not so reckless. I decided to stop by her apartment and when she opened the door, there he was.

"I knew he was mine. Knew it before she even said anything. Christ, he looked like me in all those baby pictures you and mom had of me." Here Shawn's eyes lingered with Henry's before looking away.

"_Jules?" he had gulped, eyes frozen on the little boy with his likeness. Jules leaned down and picked him up, held the toddler close to her as if in protection. Then after a glance at Shawn, she took a hesitant step forward, and then another. Finally, when she was so close Shawn could smell the boy's baby powder wafting off his skin, she said. "Jamie, this is your father. Shawn, this is your son, James Henry." He had dared then, to take his eyes off the child burbling and staring wide-eyed right back at his…father. Jesus did she say father? He looked at Jules for confirmation, and she gave a slight tilt of her head, and Shawn fixed his eyes on the boy's again. And James Henry, as if finding his father's inability to speak amusing, had smiled._

He paused in his retelling, remembering how he had hesitantly dared to touch the little boy. _He allowed his index finger to slide down a soft, smooth, chubby arm. The touch must have tickled, because Jamie had laughed unexpectedly, startling Shawn. He withdrew his finger quickly and stared, first at Jules and then at the boy now sucking on his own fingers. He too, looked from his mother to his father, receiving a reassuring kiss from one, and only wide-eyed amazement from the other. "Come in, Shawn," Jules had said, and dumbly, eyes still on the child, _his_ child, he had followed her in._

"Anyway, you know the rest as far as that whole thing goes."

"I know that you got married and had two more kids. And that you're expecting another one."

"See, you're up to date," Shawn replied. Henry rolled his eyes. Clearly, the finer details would have to come later, undoubtedly after quite a bit of tooth-pulling. Henry let it go for now, realizing that pushing Shawn at this juncture would only lead to him clamming up again. At least they were talking.

Shawn was more amazed at the fact that he had yet to hear a lecture from his dad on any of the instances he listed. Having unprotected sex. A child out of wedlock. Recklessness. Running away from his problems. Selling the house his father had lived in for thirty odd years. The list went on. And Henry just sat there and listened and offered nary a criticism. Shawn was sure his dad would stroke out at any moment.

They talked until both had finished their breakfasts, the conversation awkward at times despite their joint efforts to connect. A lot of time was spent chewing, helping to fill in the long silences as either Spencer searched for their next topic. When the waitress finally brought the check it was with some relief that their time together was drawing to a close. Shawn checked his watch while his father checked the bill. Just a quarter past nine in the morning. Well into rush hour, although in another forty-five minutes it would start to thin out a little. Traffic was going to be a bitch to the office though.

"How much do I owe?" Shawn said, reaching for his wallet.

"I got it."

Shawn raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry. Come again."

"I said I got it."

"Okay…it sounded like you said 'I got it.' I'm assuming that you meant something else."

"The check. I've got it covered."

Shawn just stared.

"What? Put away your wallet."

"Okay, I have now officially entered the twilight zone."

Henry rolled his eyes and struggled to his feet. "What? I can't pay for our meal?"

"No, no. It's just, when have you ever? You typically stick me with the bill."

"Here. Happy?" Henry said, holding out the tab.

"No, no. You go right ahead. I wouldn't want to take that away from you."

Henry rolled his eyes again and headed to the cashier. When he returned Shawn had already shrugged into his jacket and was waiting for him by the exit. Henry threw a few dollars down on the table for a tip and joined, fishing his ball cap from his back pocket and placing it on his head. Next to him Shawn fidgeted nervously.

"Well, I'd better get going. I'm late as it is. Can you drop me off at the warehouse so I can pick up my car?"

"Car?"

Shawn grinned wryly. "What, the master detective didn't uncover that little detail?"

"You actually own a car?"

"Well, yeah, dad. I can't pick up my kids on my bike."

"Wow. You really have changed. Ten years ago I would never have credited you with being smart enough to think that."

"I can only fit one, and I have three. Simple math, really."

Henry rolled his eyes.

"You still have that thing, I take it?"

"Are you kidding? Why would I get rid of it?"

"That thing's a deathtrap, Shawn. You've got family to think about. Riding that thing, especially here in L.A. with every nutjob and freak on the road? Your kids, Juliet, they depend on you, Shawn. And you don't have the greatest history with motorcycles.

The smile faltered.

"I've had two major wrecks, and one _minor_ incident when I first learned to ride. And further more one of those wrecks wasn't even my fault! I was run off the road!"

"Exactly Shawn! Why? Cause you're were on a case and getting too close. You can't say what you do now is any better. Christ, it's worse. What if one of your drug dealers came after you. You were lucky the last time that you weren't injured more seriously? You might not be as lucky this time. You can't afford to take the risk. Your family needs you."

"Look, my family is the most important thing to me. And believe me, I know what risks are associated with my job better than you." The statement, though made with barely any inflection, still possessed an ominous tone. That shield was back, those eyes shuttered and cold, and those two coupled together were starting to lend insight for Henry into Shawn's guarded past. There was a specific incident, or incidents in mind. It also served as a reminder that whatever progress was made today, it still hardly even skimmed the surface. Henry wondered if he would ever really know all that had happened.

He doubted it.

"Anyway, can you drop me off at my car or what?"

Henry suppressed a sigh. It was back to business as usual. "Sure," he nodded, setting off for his truck, Shawn in tow.

The short drive back to the warehouse was conducted mostly in silence, with exception to the small noise that was emitted when Shawn was messing with his phone. Texting, Henry recalled, having seen Gus do it a million times. When Henry finally pulled to the curb, Shawn had already unbuckled his seat belt and had his hand on the door. He turned to his father, an awkward smile adorned on his face, as if he wasn't sure whether the expression was appropriate but had settled on it after years of politeness instilled into him by his mother.

"Well, thanks for breakfast, and the ride, and … all that," Shawn finished lamely.

"When will I get to see you again?"

Shawn tilted his head in a peculiar expression and Henry winced. Okay, note to self: never utter that sentence again.

"Oh, I'll be around."

"Shawn."

Shawn sighed loudly. "I don't know. I still have some case work to finish up here. It's going to keep me busy for a few days. Maybe next week some time, if work allows."

"What about my grandkids, Shawn?"

"What about them?"

"Will I ever get to meet them?"

Shawn looked away. A muscle ticked in his jaw and he turned back. "You'll get to meet them. I promise."

"Soon?"

"Soon. Look, I gotta go."

"You could bring them by this weekend," Henry hollered as Shawn shut the door. "Anytime."

Shawn nodded, and gave a small wave, then turned and walked into the storage facility. Henry watched him until he disappeared into the building. Ten minutes later a dark blue sedan appeared and made a right, driving away from him.

Watching until the taillights finally disappeared, Henry slowly shoved the truck into drive and made his own way home. The pain in his chest that had followed him down to L.A. lessened a bit for the drive home.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

AN: Finally! Henry's happy (for Henry). Maybe he'll quit hi-jacking this story.

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	13. Chapter 13

AN: Thank you so much for the reviews! Keep them coming, I love them. Sorry about the delay, this chapter was a bitch to write, and then Henry just refused to stay out of it. Gus, too.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Shawn sighed as he tossed another packet of forms onto his pathetic pile stacked up haphazardly in his outbox. He glared indignantly at the teetering inbox, which, after a fierce bombardment, barely looked as though even a dent had been made.

God he hated paperwork. Seriously, this was his life now? Seriously?

He considered stepping out onto the roof for a cigarette break, but the last time he had left his office it was as though the many papers already clogging his desk had mated, and when he came back the stack had grown exponentially. He didn't dare leave it alone again.

One of the so-called benefits of being a special agent for the DEA was his office was actually just that—an office, with a window even—and not a cubicle with a view of the copy machine. Unfortunately, he typically spent more time gazing out the window than focusing on his work, and any time spent here was usually unproductive. It was very different from the psych office. There was a whiteboard, and a corkboard, spattered with notes and post-its, pictures and documents, but everything else about the sixteen by sixteen square was professional. Sterile. Devoid of personality. Kind of like Shawn felt working here.

Oh, well. He didn't usually spend much time here, gracing the building and his office only at the beginning of assignments, when things were still in the preliminary debriefing stage, and at the end, where he was filling out endless briefs and summarizations. Most of the time he was out in the field, infiltrating and networking, gathering the information he needed to make the bust. That, too, could be as tedious and long as the paperwork.

Though, the most serious injury he had as of yet received with the forms was a paper-cut and the possible tingling of carpal-tunnel in his right wrist. Far cry from a broken nose, fingers, cracked ribs, and gunshot wounds. Speaking of which, rain was expected later on today, if the twinge in his leg was any indication.

He pulled his eyes away from the cloudy Los Angeles skyline and back to his desk, affixing his signature on the next sheet of paper in line.

What he wouldn't give for a little bout of trashcan basketball. Or a smoothie run. He had plenty of ammunition here, surrounding him. Of course he needed a hoop. And an opponent—no fun playing by yourself. And while Gus was never much competition, he was always an enthusiastic opponent.

Gus.

He doubted Gus would be interested in a round of paper hoops. Definitely not with a new baby. He was probably sleep-deprived, zombie-like, going through the motions of feeding, changing, burping a newborn infant in a seemingly endless cycle. He could remember doing the same with Michael, wondering how Jules had managed this with Jamie, much less on her own most of the time. He hadn't spoken to Gus since the hospital, and his dad since the day later, when he showed up unexpectedly on Shawn's doorstep. It had been more than a week since then, and Shawn half expected every morning to find Henry waiting at the end of the landing to Shawn's apartment, or leaning up against his car, arms crossed and displeased frown adorning his face. But in eight days, Shawn hadn't had so much as a phone call from anyone in Santa Barbara, and that included his wife.

It was the longest they had gone without speaking to one another without an assignment and the risk to a blown cover separating them. He had left her a message shortly after the breakfast with his dad, and she had replied with a short call and an unconvincing apology for meddling, but since then he had only heard from her by text one other time. _Gus' baby is so cute! He looks just like him. You should see him. Love, J. _

The slight rebuke was felt even in the texting. _You _should_ see him._

Shawn sighed, tossing the pen in his hand to the blotter on his desk. She was still mad at him, and though he had apologized several times in voicemails to her, this time it really was his job keeping him away, and not just his own predilection for avoiding.

He picked up a memo tucked half under his mousepad. His next assignment. It started as soon as he tied up the paperwork spread all over his desk. A big one, too. Boca Raton, Florida. Probably a good six months laying the groundwork. Which meant probably a good six months he'd be away from his family. He'd probably miss the birth of his next son. He'd probably miss Michael's first day of pre-school. And he'd probably miss his dad's birthday.

He stared at the paper, contemplating.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He smiled, the expression feeling more natural than it had in a long time. Little Willam Guster yawned tiredly, eyelids drooping low, eyelashes skimming a chubby, light brown cheek. Gus grinned proudly at the boy, and for an instant, Henry's grin froze. He could almost imagine Shawn doing the same. He wondered if he had—was sure he had, how could he not with his own children?—presenting each of his heirs with a proud smile. He wished he could have seen it. Seen the expression on his son's face as he held his own baby in his arms. And Henry would have seen, known that Shawn finally understood what the fuss was about, to have your own child. He could almost imagine the grin on Shawn's face, just as goofy as Gus' had been, when Gus had shown Henry his new baby boy for the first time.

He could remember that stupid grin adorning his own face, forty years ago. He wondered if he would ever get to see that look on his son's face. It had been over a week, and Henry had yet to hear anything from Shawn. He wasn't going to push. He had done all he could for the time being. The ball was in Shawn's court, but it still hurt to know there was distance building between them again after all the progress they had made. Juliet had said Shawn was still tied up with his case, but Henry wondered if Shawn wasn't deliberately taking his time wrapping up the investigation. He had felt a pang of worry over the state of his son's marriage, also. Juliet looked tired and drawn, and though she tried to sound upbeat, Henry thought he could detect some irritation towards her husband's behavior. He hoped it was only hormones, but it was clear pregnancy, work, and the emotional upheaval his and Gus' reappearance had caused in her family were taking their toll on her and Shawn's relationship. It wasn't really his business, but it concerned him nonetheless. As much as he had shaped and molded Shawn in his image, he did not want Shawn to take after him in the marriage department. And it was too easy to focus on work, on the things you were good at, when everything else was slipping out of your grasp.

He hadn't seen or heard from Juliet since a few days ago, when she had stopped by to see three day-old William. He had read in the papers that the police had caught a break in the robbery case, and he assumed she was tied up with that. Gus was tied up with his role as a new dad, and if it hadn't been the need for Henry to answer a question, he doubted he would have heard too much from Gus either.

It was lonely.

And it was the first time Henry had felt truly alone in a long while. Even in witness protection he had had Gus. Sure not his own kid, but damn near close. And now, Gus was busy with his new family, and would be for a while, and Henry…was not.

He had gone fishing earlier. Broke in his new twenty foot boat. He had put up a few pictures in his condominium, but the portent absence of any current pictures of his son, daughter-in-law, and grandkids put a damper on his decorating.

He forced another smile, the tightness around his mouth smoothing out once again at the expression on Gus' face while Gus waxed poetic on the perfectness of his son.

He nodded in agreement. He did look pretty perfect. He knew Shawn would think so, too. If he were here.

Gus' face fell, and Henry realized with a jolt that he had said those last few words out loud.

"Yeah." Gus agreed quietly, and Henry could have kicked himself.

"He'll come see him soon, just as soon as he finishes up his case."

Gus nodded, carefully wiping a bit of drool seeping out the corner of his son's mouth.

"Yeah," Gus said again, and Henry could tell he put about as much stock in that as he did. Things were even more unsettled between Gus and Shawn than they were between Shawn and Henry. And it didn't appear that any of the progress father and son had made towards reconciliation was paying off in visits and phone calls.

"It feels weird not having him here for this. Ribbing me about being a nervous father. I always thought…I always thought he'd never miss any of this. And I never thought he'd beat me to the punch. Three kids already. And Lassiter said he was a good dad, can you believe it? Lassiter said that."

"Yeah."

Henry reached out a hand and rubbed little William's cap-covered skull.

"I should get going. You look ready to drop," he said to Gus.

"No, I'm fine," Gus insisted, but the sincerity was broken by a yawn. "Really," he finished lamely.

"Get some rest, Gus. You'll need it."

"He's the one I should be asking," Gus said suddenly, bitterly. Henry stopped. "Not that—I mean, you've been great help, you know with—but Shawn—" Gus stopped, and shook his head.

"With three kids, you're right. He's the one you should be asking," Henry finished for him. Because if any one of them had a wider range of experience with children it was probably Shawn.

Gus nodded.

"Don't worry, if there is anything that Shawn likes to do is to show he's better than us at something."

Gus blew out a sigh. "I guess. He's so different now, though."

Henry hesitated. "Yeah. There's still some of the old Shawn buried underneath all the anger and confusion, Gus. Hang in there. Things will start to come around." It's what Henry kept telling himself every day.

Gus nodded again, stifling a wide yawn. Henry turned a made his way to the door. "Thanks for stopping by. Hopefully, I won't have to keep calling you about every little thing. I feel kind of stupid."

"No, it's fine." _At least somebody here calls me_, he thought. _And at least I can still pretend I have a life. A family of some sort, somebody that needs me._

"Take care."

"You too. He'll be here soon." Henry added.

Gus stared a moment. "Sure," he nodded.

"Yeah."

Sure.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"What do you mean no?"

"I mean, no. I'm not accepting your resignation, Spencer."

"It's not a matter of accepting. I'm quitting, Charlie. As in, I'm not showing up tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. And there's really not much you can do about it."

"Have you even thought this through?"

"Sure." _No._ _Not like I probably should._

"It's very simple. I can't go on this next assignment."

"So, take another assignment."

"I can't."

"What do you mean?"

_I can't keep doing this. It's wrecking my family. It's wrecking my life. _

"My wife's due to give birth in October, this will keep me busy until December. I have to be there. I _need_ to be there—I can't miss my baby being born. And my wife needs me. And so do my kids. I haven't seen them in almost two months, and Jules is still working, and she needs my help so she isn't taking so much on herself. Some help at home would be greatly appreciated. And things haven't—well, they've been kind of strained between us, and I don't think a long assignment would be a good idea right now."

Charlie Abbott nodded understandingly. "I have an assignment that might help you out."

"No, Charlie! I don't want another assignment. I want out!"

"Just listen a minute—"

"No, Charlie. That's it. I'm sorry, but I'm done. I quit. Thank you for everything, here's the last of the briefs, but this is the end of the line for me. Here's my badge," he unclipped it from his belt and placed it on the desk. He reached behind him. "And here's my gun."

Charlie watched as Shawn carefully placed the sidearm in the center of his desk.

"I'm not accepting your resignation," he repeated firmly.

"That's too bad. But I'm not coming back. I've neglected my family too long."

"I have something—"

"Give it to Grant or Tyler."

"But it could—"

"I'm out. Goodbye, Charlie."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

For the first time in a long while, he felt optimistic.

He had quit his job, like he had done a thousand others, and was ready to move on to the next one.

Although…He would feel just the tiniest bit better if he had one already lined up.

He couldn't expect Jules to feed four hungry little mouths and support him all on her own. Not on her salary.

One thing about his job, it had freed Jules and him from most of their financial worry.

But, he was a pretty talented entrepreneur. After all, who else had envisioned Graceland by Night Tours? And it was pretty profitable up until he was almost caught and had to dissolve the business.

Still.

And Psych. Psych had been pretty profitable, too, when there were cases in abundance and his popularity in the media and law enforcement fueled his demand.

Except now he was unpopular.

And his name had been out of print in the media for a decade.

But all that…when had he ever worried about details before? That had never stopped him before from going to the next thing when it was clear his time in a job had run its course. And his time with the DEA…

Of course, before, he hadn't had any kids to support, or a wife, or a mortgage and two car payments, and insurance payment, and food bills, and tumbling classes for Hannah to pay for, and piano lessons for Jamie and Michael, clothes for three children forever growing out of them, and daycare for all three.

Well, at least while he was home figuring out what he should do with his life he could eliminate daycare from the bills.

And he would get to spend lots of quality time with his kids. He could play mom for a while, a-la Michael Keaton. Come to think of it—weren't there two boys and a little girl in that movie, too? Weird. Life imitating art, and all that. And hey, it had all worked out in the end for Michael and Teri, right?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

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	14. Chapter 14

"Why are we here?"

"I _told_ you already, a hundred times on the way over."

"I wanna go to the zoo."

"I wanna an ice cream. You said we can get an ice cream."

"Yes, Michael. We will. We're going to get some ice cream. We're just going to invite someone to go with us first."

"Who?"

"My dad." Three little heads swiveled in tandem to stare at him with wide eyes. Shawn was beginning to seriously rethink this idea. Which was bad because already the first idea that he had put into action today had not met with the result he had desired, either.

Charlie had refused to accept his resignation. And even after fifteen minutes of arguing over whether he was employed or unemployed, and the culmination of Shawn more or less saying _"Screw this Charlie. I quit. I mean it_" still hadn't clarified that. He still got a call back, as he was heading out the lobby, from Charlie saying to go ahead and take a couple months off. Officially he was on a leave of absence due to "stress and exhaustion."

Unofficially, he still wasn't going back.

And now that he had quit, he still didn't have a clue what he planned on doing. He hadn't told Jules yet. His usual M.O when he was done with an assignment was to show up at the station and surprise her. She was going to be doubly surprised when, after she asked when he had to go back, he would finally be able to answer "never."

"You have a daddy, too?" Michael asked.

"Yes, everyone has a daddy, Michael." Shawn replied impatiently.

"Cameron Thomas doesn't." Jamie piped up. "He doesn't have a daddy. His daddy's in heaven."

Shawn suppressed an eye roll. "Fine, but he still had a daddy didn't he, or otherwise he wouldn't be here."

"Jack Edmonds doesn't have a daddy. He never had a dad," Jamie continued. "I've never seen him. And neither has Jack."

"He had a dad, one time, kiddo, even if he didn't stick around—look, he had a dad." Shawn countered, gently nudging his children forward onto the unfamiliar porch.

"How do you know?" Michael asked.

"I just do, okay?"

"How?"

"Michael, we really don't have time for this right now. Does somebody want to knock?" he asked, hoping to dissuade any further arguments.

"Me!" piped up Hannah. Shawn sighed in relief. "Come here, Banana." She threw her arms up willingly, and he hefted her up and stood before the door.

"On three?"

Two heads nodded vigorously.

"How do you know?"

"Michael, are you going to knock or not?"

"I thought Hannah was."

Right. Well.

"How bout we all knock. On three, okay? One…two…three…" Three tiny fists and one adult one rapped obnoxiously on the door. If anything his dad would answer to just to chew out whoever made that sound.

Hannah curled an arm around his neck while they waited.

"Nobody's home," Michael ventured, leaning against his father's hip.

"Nuh-uh. I just saw the curtains move," Jamie said, pointing to a window to the right of the door. They were indeed waving gently, as though someone had brushed them aside to look out the window. Still they waited.

Shit. Was his father even going to answer?

"Maybe we should try again, dad," Jamie suggested. Shawn nodded wordlessly and three fists followed his clumsily as he rapped again.

_Unbelievable. You bitch and moan about not seeing your grandkids, and now you're going to pretend like nobody's home when I finally bring them here?_

The door suddenly opened, wrenching Shawn from his thoughts. His progeny were better prepared to respond than he was.

"Hello," the boys chorused.

"Hi!" Hannah chirped with a wide grin, apparently unperturbed by the stony like expression on the man across from her.

"Hey…dad," Shawn finally managed, shifting Hannah gently to free up an arm.

"Shawn," his dad responded coolly. "This is a surprise," he added as he leaned against the door jamb, effectively blocking any entrance.

"Yeah, I was in the neighborhood."

"Uh-huh."

"Can we come in?" Shawn prompted. His dad ignored the question and eyed the children carefully.

"You must be Jamie," his dad said finally, nodding at his eldest, who leaned closer to Shawn and nodded wordlessly, wide eyes taking in the sight of this imposing figure.

"And you must be Michael," he continued, turning his attention to Shawn's middle child, also leaning against him. Michael beamed proudly. "And this," Henry continued, eying his granddaughter, "has to be Hannah." Hannah crooked her neck at him and smiled shyly, turning her face into Shawn's shoulder, before peeking an eye out and grinning again. Henry watched her carefully, the corners of his mouth twitching, before focusing his attention on his son with a raised eyebrow.

"Kids, this is your grandpa," Shawn said dutifully.

"Like Grandpa O'Hara?" Jamie asked.

"Yeah. Except Grandpa O'Hara was mommy's dad. This is my dad. Grandpa Spencer. We were just passing by," Shawn added, casually, by way of explanation, and hoped his dad would just let it go at that.

"We're going to get ice cream!" Michael piped up excitedly. "To celebrate! You wanna come?"

"Celebrate?" Henry crossed his arms over his chest. "What are we celebrating?"

"Daddy's back!" Michael supplied helpfully.

"Daddy's back?" Henry repeated.

"From his assignment," Shawn clarified.

"Ah, so you're all done with work."

"Yup, all done." _And I won't be going back, no matter what anyone thinks._ Henry squinted, recognizing something in the tone of his son's flip answer. Henry stared harder at his son, as though he could divine all the answers to his questions if only he burned a whole through his child's head.

"Hmm…ice cream?" Henry replied slowly, pulling his gaze away from Shawn and running his eyes over each of the children again. Three heads nodded vigorously.

"Who can resist ice cream?" he concluded with a small smile.

His response was met with three wide grins. "Let me get my coat and hat," Henry added, leaning away from the doorway to snag said items off the hook next to the entrance.

"Hurry!" Michael urged.

"All right, I'm ready. Who's leading the charge?"

"Me!" Michael replied already halfway down the sidewalk. "You can sit next to me, Grandpa," he added magnanimously, screeching to a halt by the car door.

"Okay," Henry agreed affably, following along at a much more languid pace. He glanced back at his son, still lingering on the porch. "You guys coming?"

Shawn glanced to his right and noted with some surprise Jamie was still standing next to him, watching his own father carefully. Normally Jamie was off like a rocket as well, if nothing else so that he could ensure his little brother didn't beat him to the car and to a seat next to his dad.

"Yeah," Shawn replied and turned, shifting Hannah to his other hip to follow. He ruffled Jamie's hair reassuringly, before allowing his hand to slide back and down to apply a few pats on his son's back, both meant to comfort and guide him towards the car.

"The door's locked," Michael hollered, and Shawn obligingly pressed the unlock button on his remote fob. The door wrenched open and Michael clambered up onto the seat, as Henry followed suit, albeit with more controlled enthusiasm. Shawn carefully secured his daughter in her car seat and double checked to make sure Michael was secured in his, while Jamie, finally old enough to travel without a car seat, clambered up into the front passenger seat and quietly watched the proceedings.

"Are you really our grandpa Spencer?" he asked after a moment of pondering the man in question before him.

"Yes, I am," Henry replied easily. Jamie nodded once as though that was all the confirmation he needed.

"Put your seatbelt on, Jamie," Shawn commanded, and Jamie quickly obliged while his father started the engine. Shawn put the car in gear and Jamie turned his attention back to his grandfather.

"I'm named after you," he stated matter-of-factly. "Grandpa O'Hara and Grandpa Spencer," he amended. "Daddy said you were a police officer, like mommy."

"That's right," Henry said, with a glance at his son's profile. "I worked for the Santa Barbara police department." Shawn meanwhile was trying to ignore the conversation playing out in the review mirror. A pretty easy feat considering the monologue playing out in his head. Jesus, had he voluntarily put himself and his dad, and his children, all in a confined space together? _What_ was he thinking?

"Daddy said you were the best cop ever," Michael chimed in.

"Is that a fact?"

"Yeah, and that you taught him everything he knows."

"Really?" Eyebrows raised.

"And you were the best daddy ever. And that he wishes he was as good dad as you were." Michael continued. 

_Oooooooooookay. _Yeah, this was a bad idea.

"_Really? _What else did daddy say?" If his father still had hair for a hairline, his eyebrows would undoubtedly be up to it, arched so high.

"Uhhh, Michael, why don't you tell him about your part in the preschool play, huh? And Jamie, why don't you tell grandpa about what happened in little league Wednesday?"

"Now, just a moment, Shawn. My grandchildren and I are talking." Shawn rolled his eyes. Great. So much for deflecting conversation.

"Now, what else did daddy tell you about me?"

"You like to fish," Jamie put in, and they were off on a roll again.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was dark when they returned to the house. Shawn wearily slid out of the driver's seat and turned to the row behind him to pull his daughter out as well. He was met with an empty car seat. He looked over the roof to find his daughter in her grandfather's arms, Michael at his side, Jamie, too, clustered around, as they proceeded in a tight bunch up the sidewalk and to the porch, leaving Shawn to stare dumbfounded in their wake.

Already the kids were attached. One afternoon together and they had all bonded. It defied all logic. There was clearly none of the animosity that Shawn had felt growing up at Jamie's age for Henry's peculiar traits. His kids just readily accepted their grandfather as is, and even weirder, all the things Shawn had had to endure with Henry's charming personality had been absent from any interactions with the children.

"Are you coming Shawn?" His dad asked, paused before the door as he and the children stared back at him expectantly.

"Come on, daddy," Michael commanded, "Grandpa's going to show us his fishing gear."

Fishing gear?

The confusion must have been evident on his face, because Jamie added for clarification, "for when we go fishing tomorrow."

What? When had this been planned out? He hadn't been listening to the inane chatter going on back and forth between his children and his father on the way back. Most of it he had been on the phone with Jules, telling her not to worry about picking up the children from daycare tonight, that he was home and he had already taken care of that, and just in general listening to how her day had been going. She had still sounded tired, but her end of the conversation was definitely more upbeat once she found out he was home, with the children, and even more importantly, with his father. He had decided to leave the discussion about the current status of his employment for a later date, when they were alone and the kids were in bed.

"Fishing?" he repeated, closing the car door and slowly joining them.

"We're not going fishing tomorrow, guys." Three impossibly let down faces stared back, and his father frowned deeply.

"What? Why?" The boys asked, staring at their father in bewilderment. "Grandpa said he was going to show us how to catch a big one," Jamie added holding out his hands for emphasis.

"Why can't we go fishing tomorrow?" Michael added. "I want to go out on a boat. I've never been on a boat!"

Henry frowned at Shawn, as though pondering whether to report him to child services for this offense.

"Yeah, me neither." Jamie put in.

"Yes, you have—you rode the ferry with me, remember? Last year?" Jamie scrunched his nose up in consternation. "That was a boat."

"I haven't been out on a boat on the _ocean_," Jamie amended, crossing his arms.

"It was to Catalina island. You cross the Pacific to get there."

"Hannah hasn't been on a boat," Michael interjected, astutely determining he was losing support in this argument.

"Hannah's too little to be out on a fishing boat," Shawn replied.

"So, let me take the boys," his dad put in.

"Yeah!" Jamie and Michael agreed.

"It can just be us men," Henry continued. "The Spencer men out to hook some mean snapper."

"Maybe we'll get an octopus," Jamie put in excitedly.

"Yeah, or a whale!" Michael chimed in.

Henry smiled indulgently. "Maybe," he agreed, patting Jamie on the shoulder and ruffling Michael's hair.

"Dad—"

"What Shawn? Are you going to allow me any time with my grandsons, or am I just going to have to take what I can get today and remember it fondly? I want to spend time with my grandchildren, Shawn."

"Dad, I—we—"

"Come on, dad, you can come, too!" Jamie whined. "It'll just be us guys. No girls allowed."

"Mommy could come," Michael put in.

"She's a girl, doofus," Jamie shot back. "Besides, she has to take care of Hannah."

"Do you guys realize that if you go fishing you have to get up at four o'clock in the morning? So you can be at grandfather's and out on the water at five," Michael's eyes bulged. "Then," Shawn continued, seeing that he had a captive, "you're out there in the middle of the ocean all day."

"We don't have to be out on the water at five," his dad replied. "We could go out at six or seven, even, if the boys don't want to get up that early."

What? What was this? His formative years getting up at the butt crack of dawn to sit in a boat at five am, despairingly counting down the minutes that ticked by like turtles racing until his father would finally, hours later, turn the boat back to shore and pack it in. And now, suddenly, you didn't have to get up at four to fish?

Who was this man?

"Are you kidding me, dad?" Shawn put in heatedly. "All those years you made me get up at—"

"Look, the best time to fish is early, but if they want to sleep in a little bit and then come out, that's okay with me."

And suddenly Shawn understood. He finally got just how badly his dad wanted to see the kids, and spend time with his grandchildren. Henry Spencer ready and willing to give up the first important rule of fishing—the right way—the Henry Spencer way—so he could ensure he would still get to see them, if that was the make or break reason.

He stared at his dad, his acute peripheral vision noting the hopeful faces fixed on his own, before slowly, with a loud sigh, acceding his approval.

"Fine."

"Yay!!" the boys immediately erupted, and Hannah, because it was what her brothers were doing, also following suit.

"You guys can go fishing tomorrow, but you, missy," Shawn stated, fixing his eye on Hannah "are staying with me."

"You're not going to join us?" His dad asked.

The boys immediately quieted and looked at their father expectantly.

"Yeah, dad, come with us," Jamie cajoled.

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "I might need help with my whale," he admitted.

Jamie rolled his eyes.

"He's going to help me get the octopus," Jamie cut in.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Boys," Shawn reprimanded sharply.

"Come on, dad," Jamie tried again.

Shawn fixed his eyes on his father, staring back impassively at his own son, waiting patiently for Shawn to deliver his decision. A muscle twitched in Henry's jaw—a blink and you miss it reaction, but Shawn was nevertheless struck by how much his father wanted to the opportunity to connect with him and his family.

Fuck.

He was going to have to get up at four in the morning. And he was soooo fucking tired. And if he and Jules kept their usual reunion routine he was going to be even more tired after they were finally alone. Of course, she was pregnant now but that had never stopped them before.

"Who wants to miss the chance to catch a whale?" he replied, and the boys once again cheered, and his dad actually smiled before turning and heading back up the walk, the boys jabbering excitedly while Henry smiled and nodded patiently. A quick flick of the wrist and the door to his father's home—and Shawn faltered on the word, because always, his father's home had meant Shawn's childhood home—opened and swallowed his family inside. Shawn hesitated, foot just before the threshold, before gathering the courage to step into unfamiliar territory.


	15. Chapter 15

"Shawn."

Oh God, he was dreaming again. Please let it be the one with him and that Victoria's Secret model locked in her dressing room backstage with a bra that just won't open before the big runway show.

"Shawn."

Hmm…wrong gender voice for that dream. He wondered if this was the one where he was an undercover cop at a high school. Wait…hmm…that may have already been—

"Shawn!"

He snapped awake, body rigid, breathing fast, listening intently to the sounds surrounding him.

The light suddenly flicked on and Shawn groaned and winced, instinctively burying his head into the pillow, trying desperately to squeeze out the blinding light. He stretched his leg and groaned again, knocking it on the…arm of the couch. He squinted and jerked his head up to make a visual verification. Yes, it was a couch. And an ugly one at that. He looked around, squinting with the one eye that was moderately functioning, taking in his surroundings. Not his apartment. Not his and Jules' place. So where the hell was he?

"Hey kiddo, time to get up."

His dad's. Crap. He had forgotten. He and the boys had stayed over—apparently so his dad _could_ wake him up at the buttcrack of dawn to go fishing. Despite the years where he might have missed this, Shawn found himself _not_ regretting being unable to do this activity with his dad for the past decade.

"Are you kidding me?" he croaked, working the other eye open to a tiny slit. "What happened to leaving out at seven a.m.?" he laid his head back down against the pillow and pulled the blanket covering him up higher.

"It is seven a.m. Shawn."

What?

"In fact, it's 7:13. The boys have already been fed, and now we're just waiting on your sorry ass to get out of bed. Let's go, kiddo. Fish are waiting."

"Nuuuuggggghhhh," Shawn responded. They could keep waiting, as far as he was concerned. He couldn't imagine why any creature would be anxious to be snagged and pulled from their natural habitat only to end up on Henry Spencer's backyard grill.

"Come on, Shawn," his father commanded. Shawn ignored him, registering an annoyed sigh followed by silence. Ah. Victory. Shawn settled back into his pillow, distantly registering the sound of footfalls on carpet.

"Ow! Hey!" Shawn threw back the blanket and glared viciously at his father. The pillow that had just previously been under his head before his father yanked it away to use as a weapon against him fell to the floor.

"Come on, Sunshine. Boat leaves in fifteen minutes."

"Ugh," was the only response Shawn would deign to give. He fell back against the cushions with a sigh.

Jesus, had he really volunteered to do this?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It was all Jules' fault really. It was her idea to have Shawn spend the night with the boys and his father. He had been prepared to give up the boys for a night and go home with his wife and daughter, but Jules had argued that however well they had taken to their grandfather, they might get frightened or uneasy by the unfamiliar sights and sounds. And since Shawn was anxious to please her, and get back into her good graces, he had agreed to spend the night, too.

Which meant he didn't even get to have sex last night, much less talk to Jules about the change in his employment status. He had spent the rest of the evening at his dad's with the kids, Jules joining them once her shift ended. Jules had only stayed a couple of hours. After about a half-hour of initial awkwardness, Jules and his dad had hit it off, talking about Shawn as a child and the boys, and Hannah and the baby that was due in a few months. Shawn had once again been speechless as to how quickly the rest of his family took to his father, while he, his son, kept tripping over his efforts to reconnect.

Shawn hadn't missed the appreciative glance Henry sent his way after talking with Juliet, though. _You did good, kid_. That had meant more to him than he cared to admit.

He tiredly took another drag on the cigarette that had somehow found its way in his mouth on his jaunt to the pier, and stretched his arms above his head trying to wake up. He wished the nicotine would hurry up and take effect. God he was tired, and not even the good tired. The lousy I-didn't-even-get-any-despite-the-fact-it's-been-almost-two-months tired. He wondered how Jules was doing this morning and flipped open his phone to call her.

"You know those things will kill you," a voice from behind him noted.

"So will a lot of other things, a lot quicker," Shawn replied, absently noting the boys perched on a bench near the boat, suited up in their life jackets. Michael didn't look much more awake than his father, but Jamie was already brimming with energy, excitedly taking in his surroundings, shifting restlessly on his seat. Henry followed his son's gaze to the children and grinned.

"They're ready to go," he observed.

"Michael looks ready to fall in."

Henry chuckled. "Yeah, he reminds me a lot of you when you were that age."

Shawn blew out a cloud of smoke and shook his head. Henry frowned. "You don't do that around your kids do you?" He indicated the cigarette. "It sets a bad example."

Shawn rolled his eyes and threw the offending item over the edge of the dock.

"That's littering."

"What's one more bad example? Come on, boys, it's time to get this boat out to sea." And get this day over with, Shawn finished silently.

"It's bad for your health, too, Shawn."

"Yes, dad. Jamie! Don't push your brother. Stop clowning around—wait—wait! Nobody gets into the boat until either grandpa or I gets in first."

"Cancer, emphysema, and those are just _your _health risks. What about the risk to your family being around it all the time?"

"I don't smoke around them, dad." At his father's pointed look, he added, "I'm a hundred feet away. And this—is a special circumstance."

" Plus, who wants to be around it?"

"Dad! Your displeasure is noted."

"You really need to quit."

"Dad!—Michael! Michael! Don't you be swinging that thing around! Put it down. _NOW!_"

"I'm serious Shawn. What possessed you start smoking in the first place?"

"Jamie! What did I just say? I mean it. Look, dad—you want me to quit? Fine. I quit. Can we hurry up and get going with this fishing trip before those two maim each other with fishing lures?"

"Give me your cigarettes."

"What?"

"Well if you're quitting you don't need them."

Shawn clenched his teeth together. Henry waited.

"Fine," he muttered, reaching into his pockets and digging out the smashed pack. "Happy?"

"Almost." Henry dropped them over the dock into the water.

"Wha—why—but—that's littering!" Shawn shouted indignantly. He watched as the pack floated away, slowly taking on water.

"Now I'm happy," Henry announced. Shawn snorted in disbelief. Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder and turned to his grandkids.

"All right, boys, are you ready?"

"Yeah!"

Henry hopped down into the boat, and turned to help Michael and then Jamie in. "Sit tight. Jamie—don't touch that handle, son." He turned to Shawn, standing on the deck watching his pack of Marlboros descend into the sea. Yeah, and he wasn't addicted? Right. Henry did him a favor.

"Shawn! We're leaving."

With a long-suffering sigh, Shawn joined the rest of his family.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Four hours, thirty-seven minutes and sixteen seconds.

Twenty-six worms baited and hooked. Fifteen additional fishing lures used.

One hundred and twelve bored sighs from Michael.

Fifty-eight from Jamie.

Thirty-six from himself.

Nineteen very pointedly annoyed looks directed his way from his father, all following Shawn's noisy exhalations.

Not that he was counting, or anything.

Not that there was anything better to do.

Eleven nibbles.

Zero catches.

Three near-misses. Michael had almost started crying after the last one, so sure that his whale had slipped by without so much as a fin breaking the surface. Shawn had pulled him into his lap, and they were currently keeping vigil over Shawn's pole. Or were. Michael's eyelids had started to droop, and were currently at half-mast and falling steadily. Jamie was seated next to his grandfather, silently staring at his pole with a look of intense concentration, as though willing the next fish to come along and take a stab at the tasty treat offered.

He had said little once the initial excitement had worn off. Shawn reckoned that had been four hours and thirty-five minutes ago, give or take ten minutes. It wasn't that it wasn't in Jamie's nature to complain; he could and did when he felt the situation called for it.

It was in Michael's, though, and he did often and loudly enough for the both of them. Jamie merely added his two cents if and when he felt the extent of their displeasure hadn't adequately been communicated or understood.

So Shawn was a little bit surprised that when Michael had started in with the whining and complaining that Jamie had only added his sighs to the braying and not his voice. Being four years older than his brother, Jamie possessed a little more patience—not the least of which had been cultivated while learning to tolerate an annoying younger brother (and sister, for that matter), but Jamie was still a young child himself, and had the same restlessness that affected all eight year-olds after a short span of time.

Yet, he was proving to be the model unto which Shawn was trying to follow. He listened intently as Henry carefully demonstrated the right way to bait your hook, the right way to cast, and the right way to hold your pole while waiting for opportunity to strike. In fact, Shawn was chagrinned to note that neither he nor Michael had followed that sage advice. No wonder his dad had half been glaring at him for the last two hours.

Even more astounding was the dialogue passing between grandfather and grandson. It had already been noted early on in the fishing trip that quiet was key, especially if you didn't want to scare the whales and other sea creatures away from your hooks. This, of course, was immediately forgotten by both boys as curiosity and excitement won out over fishing form and technique. Henry had answered both boys' questions indulgently, with only a scant few, gentle reminders to keep silent. And now Henry was blatantly going against everything he had ever preached on the art of fishing and was regaling Jamie with the story of how Shawn and he had nabbed a swordfish during one particularly eventful fishing trip. Shawn listened as Henry described the fierce struggle between fish and boy, how even when Henry had joined into the fight, it had seemed as though they were fighting a losing battle and how, with one mighty jerk, the fish broke through the water and they could see that it was easily ten feet in length.

"Wow!" Jamie breathed, and Shawn was startled to hear the sound echoed by his assumed to be asleep younger son. He glanced down and found Michael's fascinated eyes fixed on Henry's form.

Henry grinned when he caught Shawn's eyes and continued on with a wild tale of how it had taken nearly twenty minutes to wrest the thing on board, and then it had taken up most of the boat.

Shawn rolled his eyes and rested his chin on the crown of Michael's soft hair, but he listened just as intently as the boys to the rest of Henry's story, captivated despite himself.

More stories followed, with interjection from both grandchildren and son as more memories unfolded. Clearly the past in some cases, at least in Henry Spencer's eyes, was seen through particularly rosy hued colored glasses, but even when Shawn tried to correct that perception he found himself agreeing more with his dad's view of events rather than his own. By the time they pointed the boat to shore, some two hours later the fact that none of them had caught even the tiniest of fish was long since forgotten.

Besides, it was more and more evident that the fishing trip had merely been a lure of its own. Henry had hooked a chance to connect with the children and Shawn, without the possibility of distraction or escape, and he wasn't wasting any minute of it.


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Hey guys (and gals)! Sorry it has been forever since an update. The fall season has started, and for those of you not in retail, that means we're gearing up for Christmas. Yes. Already. Which means I have been incredibly busy analyzing end of spring season business, prepping for the new, yada, yada, I won't bore you with the details. I have not forgotten about this story but working on it has been extremely difficult what with the workload and my muse seemingly taking the opportunity to flee. I hope to finish it up in about 3-4 more chapters, and soon since I won't have much time to do so the further into fall we get. So, now that I've put you to sleep with this long note, here's the next part:

P.S. thank you for all the reviews. I love the feedback. Keep it coming.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

In the two weeks since the fishing trip, life had been hectic for Shawn, to say the least.

Explaining to Jules how, and when, and why he was no longer a special agent for the DEA, with the impending birth of their fourth child looming over them had not been a pleasant ordeal. In order to cut back on expenses they had agreed to eliminate daycare for the children, and Shawn elected primary caretaker in their stead.

That had been fine and dandy the first day, heck, maybe even the first week, but chasing after three little bodies that had inherited a good portion, if not all, of their father's boundless energy, had nearly taken him out at the knees. He had no idea how she did it, but it put new perspective on Juliet's keen ability to manage him and their unruly brood. If he was going to survive longer than a week, it was going to require some strategic planning.

Enter Henry.

Realizing the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, Shawn had enlisted his father's help in the form of "visits for the children"--trips to his father's house one or two times a week, which provided Henry with ample opportunities to spend time with his grandchildren, and Shawn a moment's peace, at least. Sometimes he left the kids with his father, and ran errands for Jules, job searched, or just took the opportunity to enjoy his momentary solitude. Sometimes he stayed and chatted with his father, conversations between them still stilted, but coming a little easier each time. Henry still hinted for explanations of things Shawn had long since buried or kept hidden, but for the most part, he seemed content to have Shawn voluntarily showing up at his house at least once a week.

And with the kids distracted with the presence of their grandfather, it allowed Shawn a few moments to reflect on the situation at hand.

What it boiled down to was that Shawn had to get his act together as soon as possible and find another job. If nothing else than for the state of his coiffure, which, despite Jule's denials, he was certain had started receding a good half millimeter. He only had to look to his father to imagine what he would look like after a few weeks of managing the chaos of his household.

So a new job was top priority, second only looking after Jules.

She had already spent two long nights at the station, and Shawn was finding it harder to remind her to take care of herself and the baby and not be on the receiving end of her hormonal sniping. As much as he liked to attribute it to pregnancy, he knew not all of Juliet's frustrations were the result of her expanding stomach and swollen ankles.

Despite his reassurances that they would be okay, certainly for a little while, he knew she was stressed about the impending potential financial difficulties if he didn't find work soon.

This was all too evident, when, after admonishing his wife about working too many hours, she had snapped, "Well, we have to eat!"

The retort had hurt, and Shawn was reminded of everything that was at stake if he didn't find a job soon. Another night down at the station when most of the other officers had gone home and the kids were staying the night with his dad, and Juliet and Shawn were sniping at each other about the sacrifices each was making for the family, Shawn had finally conceded to his wife's position.

"Look, it's not too late. I can go back to work. Charlie just has me down as leave. You don't have to keep doing this. It's okay. I can go back and get another assignment—not be so far away from you and the kids."

The conceit seemed to take the wind out of Jules' argument, and she let out long, tired sigh.

"No. No, I don't want that. I don't want you doing something you can't stand. I don't want you that unhappy."

"So you want me a little unhappy?"

Jules had smiled, the corners of her mouth turning up.

"No, of course not. I don't want you any unhappy. And I definitely don't want you that far away from me when I need you. When _we_ need you." She had grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. "The kids miss you, and they're so happy you get to be home with them. And I know it probably hasn't seemed like it lately, but I'm happy you get to be home with me, too. I just—the next few weeks and months are going to be hard, financially."

"I know Jules. I'm trying to find a job as fast as I can. I don't want you worrying about where our next meal is coming from. We'll be fine. I'll take care of it."

Juliet had frowned, whether at his seemingly high-handed comment or something else. "Even if you find another job, we still may be looking at downsizing our expenses. I mean, you made a lot of money working for the DEA; I don't know if you'll be able to find something else that pays as much."

"I know. We'll be fine, Jules. I'll make sure my family is taken care of before anything."

Juliet had smiled softly and pressed a soft kiss against his temple. "I know you will." The chair that she had wheeled around to the side of her desk shifted jerkily as she awkwardly rolled it back under her desk. "Just don't forget to take care of yourself, too, Shawn. You've sacrificed a lot. We can all stand to sacrifice a little for you."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The problem was Shawn couldn't figure any way for his family not to feel a significant pinch in the wallet unless he went back to work for the DEA, or found something comparable in pay, which, as Juliet noted, was going to be difficult. At least he had some credentials now. He could put those once worthless bachelor and master's degrees to use, perhaps, in securing a job.

Except any job he could secure by flashing those two things was guaranteed to be a snooze fest. Some corporate flunky, working nine to five? He'd be bored miserable. At least when he was a special agent he could honestly say while miserable at times, he had rarely been bored. The fact that at any given moment a cover that seemed safe and secure could be blown in an instant, resulting in a fight or flight decision, had always provided a weird little thrill.

Which wasn't good—because the more Shawn thought about what he wanted to do with his life after the DEA, the more he realized he wanted that thrill, and Christ he was a father to four, he couldn't afford to take jobs where his life was at such risk. Hell, hadn't that been the reason he wanted out in the first place? Certainly one of the top 5. What was he, nuts?

It was bad enough that Jules' job wasn't exactly 100 safe. Shouldn't one parent be gainfully employed in a completely mundane and 0 risk job? They certainly owed it to their kids. He sighed and opened up the paper to the classifieds. There had to be something in there that could fill the bill. When had finding a job become so hard?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

In the midst of job-hunting Shawn ran into Lassiter at the station while visiting Juliet under the guise of delivering her lunch. The kids had opted to go with their grandfather for a Spencer family outing to the park, and Shawn had gladly relinquished baby-sitting duty to his dad in favor of a few hours of a quiet, unshackled afternoon.

"Spencer!"

"Hey, Lassy what's up?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd bring Jules some lunch." He indicated the two Rubbermaid dishes enclosed in his hand.

Lassiter grunted. "I hear you're unemployed."

Shawn frowned, wondering where this was leading to. "Yeah, I quit the DEA."

"You really think that was smart?" Lassiter asked bluntly.

"Excuse me?"

"Your timing could sure use some work. I mean, you're due to have another baby in what? Less than four months? Not really the best time to be looking for a new job."

Shawn ground his molars together.

"I mean, I get that you don't want to be away as much, but surely the DEA had something they could have offered you that wouldn't take you away as often from your family, and still issued a paycheck monthly."

"I appreciate the concern, Lassy, but I have it all under control. You don't have to worry about me."

"You? Who gives a shit about you? I'm talking about your wife, and the strain she's under trying to do _her_ job, and take care of her family, and the _baby_ she's expecting, and still support you!"

"Jules and I—"

"She's _tired_, Spencer. She wants to rest—hell, she just wants a day where she doesn't have to worry about where her next meal might be coming from, maybe take a day off, but there's no way she's even going to consider it with you _both_ not working."

"Look I know Jules is tired. I can see that," Shawn replied testily. "She can take a day off, we'll be all right. I'm going to find a job and take care of her. I do have some legitimate credentials now, you know."

Lassiter scoffed loudly. "You can forget about anything here. There's just way too much bad blood from your revelation ten years ago to hire you directly in any official capacity."

"I'm not asking you for a job."

"Good, because I sure as hell wouldn't hire you."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Are we finished? Jules needs her lunch."

"O'Hara needs you, Spencer," Lassiter replied quietly. "She needs you to have your shit together. I talked with Charlie. There is a job open at UCSB teaching criminal justice. He was going to suggest it to you, but apparently you walked out on him before he had the chance. It's only part time; the rest of the time you would still be tasked out to the DEA."

Shawn shook his head stubbornly. "I want out. I can't keep doing that; it's—it's just too much with a family."

"He'll work with you, Spencer, I know he will. God knows why, but he likes you."

"No, thank you, but I'm done."

"Spencer—"

"Jules is waiting. Thanks, Lassy, but I'll find a job."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Two weeks later, he did find a job. Security Supervisor at West Coast Foods warehouse. The pay wasn't great; almost a fifty percent reduction from what he usually took home, but it was full-time, paid benefits, and more importantly, just _paid_.

He was in charge of analyzing their security measures and equipment (some surprisingly sophisticated for a food manufacturing plant), and devising new techniques and plans for upgrades, training subordinates, and presenting monthly to the CEO and VP his results and findings.

It made him weep for a position at the video mart to open up.

It had been mildly entertaining the first week, when he was still going through orientation and learning the ropes. They were horribly stiff and unimaginative at West Coast Foods. He didn't get along with his boss, who had no idea how to take Shawn's unique personality. But after the second day in week two when he had redesigned the plant's security response and reworked some camera equipment and alarms for better coverage and alerts he found himself bypassing security measures on the computer to download tetris. After day five of week two he had already posted his personal best high score ever.

It took everything he had to show up for week three.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

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	17. Chapter 17

"Grandpa!" Henry turned away from the table he was setting to engulf the miniature runningback of one Michael Spencer as he careened towards him. Jamie was right behind, throwing his arms around Henry's middle as Shawn followed at a much more sedate pace with a squirming Hannah in his arms. After a minute or two of furious wriggling, Shawn finally caved and set her on the floor, where she, too, joined the charge after her brothers.

"Hi guys!" Henry returned, enthusiastically ruffling the boys' hair and scooping up Hannah. She looked quite settled in her grandfather's arms, and even offered a shy kiss on his cheek that elicited a pleased grin from Henry. Shawn refrained from rolling his eyes and instead focused his attention on the boys behavior, which included no small amount of pushing, shoving, and name-calling as everyone jockeyed for their Grandpa Spencer's attention. It was evident that Henry was enjoying the attention himself, since he allowed for the boys' misbehavior to continue for several minutes before finally announcing, "I've got popsicles in the freezer."

This silenced all further attempts to capture their grandfather's attention and the boys tore off to the kitchen in search of their tasty treat. The loud, infuriated cry of Hannah followed as she tried to keep up, and Shawn yelled after the beat of sneakered feet, "Jamie! Stop shoving your brother, and look after Hannah. Make sure you get her one!" The former direction was ignored, as Jamie took the opportunity to slip one more push in on his younger sibling, but he hollered an affirmative to the last order, so Shawn knew he had heard him. He rolled his eyes again and glanced up at his father.

"How have you been? How's the new job? Want something to drink?" Henry asked, heading for the kitchen. The boys and Hannah, still protesting being left behind, had already tore out of the room, popsicles in hand, and had taken up residence in the family room where all three children were currently arguing over possession of the game controller to a Nintendo wii, which had mysteriously appeared two weeks ago, following a conversation Jamie and Henry had had about the device. Shawn could just imagine his father, technologically retarded when it came to such things, looking for the elusive device in electronic stores. How he had found one so quickly after learning Jamie and Michael had wanted one, Shawn would never know, but he bet his dad had enlisted the help of a few well-placed police buddies to find it.

The family room was smaller than the living room Shawn had grew up with, and even though he had been over several times in the last three weeks—Henry acted as part-time daycare for the kids—he still could not get used to the change. Everything about the place felt foreign, probably due to the fact that very little traveled with Henry to his new life and new home when he had entered protection. There were a few pictures that Shawn remembered from his childhood home, but most everything else was completely new. That wasn't to say the décor didn't reek of his dad's off-color taste, but beyond that it was mostly unrecognizable.

"I've got some of your things," Shawn announced suddenly. Henry held out a soda, but paused in the extension of his arm to concentrate on what Shawn had just said.

"What?"

"Some of your things," Shawn repeated. "Not much, but I saved some stuff, when I was clearing out the house—our old house. I didn't keep a whole lot, but I've got all your police stuff, your copies of old case files, and your awards, and badge and all that. Pictures, that kind of stuff. Some furniture—the dining room table. My old bedroom set, but I doubt you want that back, that old bureau that was Grandma Spencer's."

"Wow. I thought you said you pitched all that."

"Most of it I did, but some of it I kept. That ugly ass purple chair you loved went first, though. Sorry.

Henry rolled his eyes. "Most of it you can go ahead and keep—the bureau your grandmother would want passed down the family. I would take the dining room table back if you're not using it, and the pictures…yeah, I'd like to go through them. I could use some new ones, too," he added pointedly.

"I'll pass that on to Jules. I'm sure she has plenty to give out, of the kids at least."

Henry nodded. "So. How's the job?"

Shawn groaned. "God, I haven't been this bored since high school."

"It's only been three weeks, Shawn."

"I know. I don't know how I'm going to make it through a whole month."

"You're staying for dinner right?"

"Yeah, Jules is working late."

"How is she doing?"

"Fine. Tired. Big as a house. Cranky. Me and the kids are trying to keep a low profile."

Henry chuckled quietly, opening up the cupboard above him and pulling out the ingredients needed for the night's dinner. "How are things between you two, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I do mind, but not that that ever stopped you. Fine. I guess. She's happy I have a job. I'm happy I have a job. Just…"

Henry looked up from the hamburgers he was forming. "Just?"

"Just…I wish it was some other job."

"Like the DEA?"

"No! Just wish it paid better. Was a little more stimulating."

"Like the DEA."

"What, are you going to start busting my chops, too?"

"Too?"

"Lassiter. He felt the need to address some flaws in my employment history. Thought I made the wrong decision jumping ship."

"Hmm."

"You think so, too, don't you?"

Henry shrugged defensively. "I didn't say anything, Shawn."

"But you do! You think I should have stayed with the DEA," Shawn accused, picking up a meat tenderizer and patting it against his palm.

"Look, it doesn't matter what I think. As long as you were okay with your decision then it doesn't matter what anybody thinks."

"Are you kidding me?"

"What?"

"You're supporting me?"

"I was always supportive!"

"Always?"

"I supported you and that psychic detective agency nonsense, didn't I?"

Shawn said nothing, not wanting to discuss that particular part of the past. Yeah, well," he mumbled, "try telling that to Lassiter."

"Although—"

"There it is! I knew it! I knew it!"

"Listen Shawn—it sounds as though _you_ have the biggest problem with leaving the DEA."

"I don't have any problem," Shawn insisted.

"Uh-huh."

"I don't. It was the right decision to make."

"Okay."

"It was! I can't keep trailing after drug dealers and risking my life, and my kids and my family, just because I want a more interesting job."

"That is true."

"Yeah, and just because it's more meaningful than making sure employees aren't slipping a few whole foods cartons out on their lunch breaks, doesn't make it the right choice."

"Hmm."

"And, you know, money doesn't count for everything. Just because Jules and I were financially secure doesn't make it the right choice for our family. West Coast foods doesn't pay great, but we'll get by. We'll just have to scrimp a little."

"Right."

"Fuck, I hate that job," Shawn muttered. "It's making my whole family miserable."

"No, Shawn. _You're_ making your whole family miserable. You need to figure out what you want in life."

"Gee, dad, thanks for the insight."

"You're welcome. And watch your mouth. I raised you better."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Shawn munched on his meal while absently listening to the boys and Hannah fill in their grandfather on the noteworthy events that occurred in their lives since the two days they had seen him last. Henry followed their somewhat disjointed recount fairly well despite the fact, that at any given point one child interrupted, or talked over the other. Occasionally his eyes would flick to Shawn's in amusement, but Shawn had trouble following the humor since his mind was occupied with the matter that had been bugging him for the last few weeks.

His dad was right. He needed to figure out what the fuck he wanted in life. Family? Of course, what was he without Jules and the kids? Career—never gave much thought to one until he had hit upon _Psych._ That was the first time he had really felt like he had found himself, his calling. When it had gone belly up, Shawn had found himself floundering in his efforts to move on. Much like now, he noted. Giving up crime-solving had proven to be a harder endeavor then ruining his reputation as a psychic detective. He had been unable to resist the phoned-in tips, the careful observations and screenings of crime reports in the news.

Like now. When not actively trying to beat his tetris score, he found himself researching open cases from his DEA days. Following up on known members of active cartels, blurbs he found in on-line news mediums, or newspapers. It was dangerous and stupid, but he couldn't help it. He was ashamed to admit that that information might have well as been his version of internet porn.

Why couldn't he just let it go and move on? He hated that life. That life meant he was occasionally shot at, tortured, strung out on caffeine and nicotine and nerves to the point of exhaustion. He was away for weeks, months at a time, with no contact with Juliet and the kids. Christ what was _wrong_ with him? He didn't want that. He knew he didn't want that. He loved Juliet too much to keep pursuing a job that kept him away from her as much as it did. He owed it to her and the kids to be a supportive husband and father—not just financially—but emotionally, and in a physically present capacity.

_Hadn't Lassiter said that Charlie had just such a job?_

Yeah but only part-time. Teaching. _Teaching._ Well, those who couldn't do, taught, right? Besides it was only part-time. He would still be tasked out to the DEA and he had no doubt what that would most likely entail. His job was infiltration. He was trained to work his way in to the toughest, tightest cartels, to blend in and insinuate his cover into their lives, earn their trust and respect.

_But that's a full-time job. You can't just work a cover into an organization and punch out every day at 5. Crime didn't work that way. Somebody trying to make an in within a criminal organization was pretty much on call for whenever the bad guys wanted you._

Surely Charlie knew that. If he was expecting Shawn to take a job as an instructor, then he had to know his regular job of infiltrating cartels was off the table.

_Of course. Charlie's a smart guy. Which means, he has something else in mind._

He was ashamed to admit that he was more than just curious as to what that something was. A way out of West Coast Foods?

He threw his fork down in disgust and noticed four sets of eyes fixing upon him.

"Everything okay," his dad asked around a mouthful of food.

"Fine," Shawn muttered. "I'm just…done eating."

"Me too!" Michael chimed in, throwing his fork down onto his largely untouched plate. Well, at least the green beans and carrots were largely untouched.

"No, you need to finish those," Shawn replied.

"You didn't finish yours," Michael returned. A snort of laughter erupted from his right and Shawn cast a glare on his father, who made no discernible effort to hide his smile of amusement.

"I finished mine!" Jamie added.

"Really?" Jamie nodded.

"Then how did Hannah get so many carrots?"

"She likes them," Jamie answered. Hannah, as a show of support to her oldest brother, picked one up and mashed it between her fingers.

"You need to eat your share of carrots, too. Both of you," he added with a stern eye on Michael.

"Why?"

"Because…" Shawn began helplessly, "Carrots are good for your eyesight," he finished lamely.

"Well they taste crummy."

"Well, things that are good for you usually do."

"Why?"

"Michael," Shawn warned, already seeing where this was headed.

"I don't like them," Michael mumbled stubbornly.

"Too bad."

Michael took to stabbing them viciously with his fork, breaking the soft slices into uneven chunks. Shawn sighed, and picked up his own fork, picking at his plate randomly before realizing both boys were waiting to see what his next move would be. With another quiet sigh he forked some carrots into his mouth and managed not to grimace at the taste. Michael was right. They tasted crummy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the bob of his father's head as he ducked another laugh at Shawn's expense.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It was late by the time Shawn and the children returned home. Hannah was fast asleep against her father's shoulder, and Michael's eyelids drooped as he sluggishly followed his father and brother into the house. Within an hour all three kids were fast asleep in their beds and Shawn headed to his study to accomplish some work before Juliet returned from the station, before Shawn realized that his many duties at West Coast foods didn't require the late nights of research and catching up on paperwork his previous employer had demanded. It was hard to get out of the habits he had developed in the ten years he had spent with the DEA,and because he had nothing better to do (so he told himself), he flipped on the computer and started what had been his normal nightly routine: checking his email.

It was there.

The Offer.

The possible solution to his current discontent. That magical job offer Lassiter and Charlie had spoken of when Shawn had announced he just couldn't take anymore.

It had been there for weeks, studiously ignored by Shawn, who had also decided refraining from checking his work email accounts would be beneficial to maintaining his impulsive decision. It remained unread, the bold heading demanding his attention as he tried to busy himself with sifting through the other messages littering his inbox.

Judging by the volume and type of emails he had received no one was taking his retirement seriously—or more likely, was even aware that he had quit. Several emails spoke of things to look into or complete "when he got back" and Shawn was hard pressed not to feel just the tiniest bit annoyed that nobody seemed to believe him when he had announced he was done with the DEA. Worse, that stupid email with the Offer seemed to be blinking at him when he was not looking, pulling his attention away from messages he was trying to sort through—for what reason, he couldn't fathom. He was done, right? Why did he need to keep updated on work? What was he even doing on here?

He surfed around for a half hour longer, wading through some of the lengthier messages, deleting the garbage, and carefully avoiding the one message he was most intrigued by. Finally, when he had had enough, he closed out all open messages and prepared to log off. A couple of other interesting cases had popped up in the interim since he had last been employed by the DEA, and Shawn had to stifle his interest and natural curiosity about them. He was done.

Before he logged off completely, the mouse pointer skidded over the last remaining email. Without thinking too much about it, Shawn double-clicked on the heading.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o


	18. Chapter 18

"Shawn."

"Gus."

Shawn stared wide-eyed at the harried form of his former (?) best friend, laden down with what appeared to be a portable playpen, stroller, and diaper bag, before transferring his gaze to the tiny bundle wailing at the top of his tiny lungs ensconced in a car seat carefully carried by Gus.

"Uh, is your dad around?"

Shawn pulled his eyes away from William.

"He took the kids to get an ice cream down at the wharf, but he should be back anytime." He transferred his gaze back to the crying baby. "What's his problem?"

"I don't know!" Gus replied fretfully, rocking William jerkily. "He won't stop crying."

"Where's Bonnie?"

"Out for lunch with her mother."

Shawn tried to bite down a smile. "So, he's only been at this for, what? Thirty minutes and already you're cracking?"

"Seventy-three minutes, Shawn! And I've tried everything, and he won't stop crying!"

Shawn managed a solemn nod.

"Did you try feeding him?"

"Of course I tried feeding him, Shawn!"

"Did you check his diaper?"

"Yes! That was the first thing I checked."

"How about rocking him? Did you try rocking him?"

"What about his binky? Did you try his binky?"

"_Yes!_ How is it you have three kids and know next to nothing about quieting a crying baby?!"

"I know lots about quieting a crying baby, but I really only got experience with the two kids."

Gus glanced up sharply with a frown.

Oh, right. Gus didn't know about the whole Jamie situation.

"I didn't know about Jamie until he was two," Shawn obliged.

"What?!"

"Yeah, his mom and I decided to make whoopie one night and then I took off for training the next day. Came back three years later and, _voila!_ Father to a toddler boy. So, yeah, I missed out on that whole crying thing with the first one. Mostly."

"Great. So you don't have any ideas?"

"Oh, I've got ideas."

Gus rolled his eyes.

"Here, give him here." Shawn motioned for Gus to hand him over.

"Be careful with him," Gus instructed.

"I'll be careful with him," Shawn promised. "There. See? Now we know what the problem is."

Gus gaped at the quieting baby in astonishment. "What?"

"Your kid doesn't like you. Crying conundrum solved."

"Of course he likes me! I'm his father!"

"Really? Let's see." Shawn passed the baby back to Gus. Gus grinned triumphantly when William remained quiet. But after a minute or two he started wiggling, and a moment later both men winced as an earth-shattering wail began in earnest. Gus hurriedly handed his son back to Shawn, where, after a few pitiful keens he once again quieted.

"Are you sure he's yours?" Shawn asked.

"What! Of course he's mine. Who else's can he be?!"

"Well, he was a test tube baby, right?"

"What does that have to do with it?!"

"I'm just saying. Maybe there was some mix up in the lab. Maybe he senses you're not his real father."

"I am his real father!"

"Sooo, there wasn't a mix-up at the lab?"

"No!"

"Hmph. Well, I don't know what else it can be." Shawn handed William back to his father.

"Great. Thanks. You're a lot of help. My kid doesn't like me?" William took a few loud sniffles and opened his mouth in preparation. Gus hurriedly held the bundle out to Shawn again. "My kid doesn't like me," he finished, dismayed. "He likes you, apparently."

"I've got a way with babies."

"Obviously." Gus watched Shawn closely. He did look a natural. Though he supposed after having three children the road to fatherhood got a little easier with each one. Then again, Shawn had always had an easy way about him with children and babies, though Gus couldn't recall a time when Shawn had gravitated towards them willingly. When forced upon him, though, he displayed no fear or anxiety in having to deal with a tiny, fragile human being.

"I don't think I'm cut out for this parenting thing."

"Why?"

"I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Who does? Hell, I made it work. And I had to hit the ground running, so to speak. So can you."

"Yeah, but my own kid already hates me. He's only five weeks old."

"Gus, your son doesn't hate you. I'm just giving you a hard time. He probably has gas, or something."

"Yeah? So why does he stop crying every time I hand him to you?" He retook William from Shawn's arms.

"Who knows? Babies are fickle. Are you coming inside or what?" Shawn replied, holding the screen door open. Gus carefully tried to shift his load without jostling his son. After watching him fumble a few times, Shawn said, "Here, give me something. What is all this crap? You don't need half of it." Shawn removed the stroller and playpen and tossed them to the side on the porch. "Diaper bag or baby?" He asked, indicating which item was to be transferred to his arms. William let a small protest at the jerky movements, and Shawn reached for him, hoping to forestall the inevitable scream that was sure to follow.

"Be careful with him," Gus reminded, "He's very delicate." He looked pointedly at the heap of baby paraphernalia cast aside, and followed carefully in, keeping a watchful eye on Shawn and his son at all times.

"I know how to hold a baby, Gus," Shawn retorted. William apparently concurred because he settled into Shawn's arms as though he had found his bunk for the night. Gus set the diaper bag on the coffee table, furrowing his brow in surprise when he overheard Shawn gently cooing soothing words to his son. He paced in slow circles about the room, gently shushing the mild coos that slipped out occasionally, stepping easily around Gus' stunned form. In fact, other than the fact that he had purposefully avoided walking into him, he ignored Gus entirely. After twenty minutes of this, the room was blessedly quiet, and Shawn came to a stop in front of Gus and handed the sleeping infant back to his bewildered father.

Gus raised his brow in question, and Shawn merely shrugged and explained quietly, "Sometimes all you need to do is walk with them."

"I did walk with him," Gus replied, carefully securing William into his baby seat.

"Sometimes it takes a while." Shawn replied. "Hannah took hours, it seemed."

"Was she a fussy baby?" Gus inquired, realizing how little he knew about Shawn's kids and his role as a husband and father. Shawn didn't answer right away, looking about a million miles from Henry's living room. He locked gazes after a moment with Gus.

"She was born premature. Her mother—Jules," he amended, "was shot in the abdomen. It caused her to go into labor too early," he said softly, looking away, eyes distant again. "We thought we were going to lose her, it was touch and go…I thought I was going to lose them both," he admitted quietly. "I must have worn a path to from the ICU to the NICU within hours. Back and forth. I was so exhausted, and Juliet was unconscious for a while—in surgery and recovery—it was just me and Hannah. She was so tiny—only three and a half pounds, and surrounded by tubes and wires. I couldn't even hold her. She was in an incubator—I could touch her through a little sleeve in the side. For the longest time that was all I could do."

Gus listened intently, at a loss for words.

"She was shot because of me."

Gus' eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Jules. Hannah wasn't hurt directly by the bullet. Juliet was shot because of me. I was working a case for the DEA that coincided with an SBPD investigation. She wasn't supposed to be there. Not in her condition. But they needed a backup, that's all she should have been—radio backup, but of course she wouldn't stay," he remarked bitterly. "She knew I was there somewhere. And she was too easy of a target for Juarez. He knew—somehow he knew. He knew I wouldn't leave her there to die. He got away. Hiding out somewhere in South America, Argentina, Columbia. Brazil, maybe."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," Gus murmured, unsure what to say. And the uncertainty was wholly unnerving—the years of friendship and brotherhood never allowing for awkwardness between them, not like this. Gus had always known what to say to Shawn.

Shawn looked up, hazel eyes piercing. "No. Why would you?"

Yes, after ten years apart why indeed?

Gus opened his mouth to say something—what he didn't know—but he felt the need to explain himself when Shawn cut him off abruptly.

"Here's Dad," he nodded to the window behind Gus, allowing a view of the front porch and the befuddled look on Henry's face as he stared at the baby stuff thrown over it. Three tiny heads of various heights surrounded him. Shawn's children. Seeing them for the first time, Gus was overwhelmed by how similar to their father they all looked. They could undoubtedly be no one else's, even the little girl, Hannah, he recalled, who looked like Juliet, except with dark hair and eyes inherited from her father.

When Gus turned to remark on the sight to Shawn he found the living room empty.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Oooooh that Shawn's a stubborn difficult one, isn't he?

Congrats to Psych for being renewed for a fourth season (according to ) YAY!!

Oh, and…

PLEASE REVIEW!!


	19. Chapter 19

AN: Yes two updates in one day. I only have an epilogue to go. I am trying to get this finished before the busy season. Plus, I have another Psych story started--Shules, of course, and angsty.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Shawn!"

Henry pulled aside the screen door and stepped out onto the back patio of the condominium in time to catch the words, "Yeah, okay, I'll see you Monday," before Shawn snapped his cell phone shut.

"Work?" Henry asked, before the children swarmed him and their father. Shawn nodded his attention focused solely on the garbled message Michael was trying to impart. Henry frowned and turned to the other figure still lingering in the doorway.

"How about an iced tea, Gus?"

Gus slid his eyes towards Shawn, who was still engrossed in the children as they bombarded him with the highlights of their trip to the wharf.

"I should probably get going," he said, eyes locked on his friend.

"Nonsense, you can stay for a drink. William will be fine," Henry added, as Gus turned his attention to the baby sleeping soundly in his car seat sitting on the coffee table. "We'll keep the screen door open so we can hear him. How about you, Shawn? An iced tea?"

Shawn glanced up from the head whose hair he was gently tousling, as Jamie grinned widely up at him. His eyes flickered momentarily to Gus' before giving Hannah a gentle admonishment that Gus had to strain his ears to hear, but was nonetheless effective as she ceased jumping up and down.

"We need to leave soon," Shawn said, and was cut off from any further discussion on the matter by a chorus of "No's" and a lot of whining erupting from the children. "We promised mommy we would take her to casa Lopez," he reminded quietly, shushing most of the grumbling. "And we need to use our inside voice so we don't wake the baby," he added gesturing to William, still snoozing steadily in his car seat.

"Yeah, but Jules doesn't get off work for another couple of hours. You have plenty of time to sit with us and have a drink," Henry broke in, eliciting a furrowed brow and subtle frown from Shawn, which Henry pointedly ignored.

"Fine," Shawn said through clenched teeth. "Sounds great. Don't suppose you could make mine a Long Island?" He added with a hiss as Henry slapped his shoulder.

"Not when you'll be driving my grandchildren," Henry replied just as quietly with a fake smile plastered on. Shawn winced as one of the slaps to his shoulder seemed to pack some extra punch behind it. "Tea, Gus?"

"Sure, I guess," Gus replied, looking warily from the dual artificial grins staring back at him.

"Great!" Shawn said, and there was no mistaking the sarcasm. He turned his attention once again to his sons, who were arguing, in a growing crescendo of noise over some game controller, before Shawn ripped the offending object from his younger son's hands.

"Dad!" Came the virulent protest.

"Shh! You'll wake the baby," Shawn replied, noting the subtle shift of arms and legs sticking out of the confines of the car seat.

"So? Who cares about a dumb baby," Michael muttered rudely.

"You will when it starts screaming again," Shawn replied with a weary sigh, sticking the game controller in his pocket. "You're going to have to practice being quiet for when the real baby comes," Shawn continued. "Remember like with Hannah?" Although, to be fair, given Michael's age when Hannah was born, it was unlikely he remembered much at all about the event.

"Hannah's a dumb baby, too," Michael replied petulantly, and, to emphasize his point, gave his sister a rough shove, causing her to fall.

Hannah erupted into tears, having found out early on that tears brought the attention of her parents, namely her father, quickly and tended to bring them on her side as well. Parents, after all, as a great comedian once said, don't care about justice, only quiet, and Shawn and Juliet were no different, though Juliet wasn't quite wrapped around her daughter's finger like her husband.

"Michael!" Shawn yelled, and Gus' eyes darted quickly to that of his own progeny, sleeping soundly he noted with no small amount of surprise through the chaos going on around him. Hannah continued to wail, drawing the attention of her grandfather, pitcher of tea in his hands as he surveyed the mess around him.

"What happened?"

"Michael," Shawn began, seizing a hand around his younger son's arm, "needs a time-out," he concluded with an expression Gus remembered appearing often on Henry's face when Shawn had misbehaved as a kid. "Dad, can you check Hannah," he added before he dragged Michael into the house, mouthy protests erupting all the way, and disappeared from sight.

"Hey sweetheart," Henry said, kneeling down to check his granddaughter whose cries had subsided somewhat without the audience of her father present. "Did you skin your knee?"

Hannah pointed to the boo-boos afflicting her, a reddened knee cap and palms, and Gus watched in awe as Henry gently applied a kiss to each one. Henry Spencer? Boo-boo kisser? Since when? Shawn's mother, definitely, but Gus could still remember the time Shawn broke his arm through the skin and Henry, though concerned, had basically tended to his teary-eyed five year-old son with his usual gruff, "Suck it up, Shawn" demeanor.

Shawn returned a few minutes later, sans Michael, who presumably was still working through his time out. Henry and Hannah had disappeared inside, Jamie following after a dubious look at Gus.

"Kids," Gus remarked weakly.

The blank expression that had inhabited Shawn's face ever since Gus had become reacquainted with him was back, and Shawn looked blandly at Gus before responding. "Wait until you have a couple more," he said, fishing around his pockets for something, before giving up with a sigh.

"I don't know," Gus said, shaking his head, his attention drifting to William.

"What? You don't want anymore? Don't let my monsters dissuade you. Yours are bound to be better behaved."

"Not if they're friends with yours," Gus retorted without thinking. Shawn laughed quietly. "You were still far better behaved than I," he pointed out taking a seat on the lounge chair.

"Maybe," Gus agreed. "You like it? Being a father to four?"

Shawn shrugged. "Didn't plan on having another one, but it's all good, you know? Four seems to fit."

Gus nodded. "I don't think we'll have anymore," he confided. "I don't think we're _able_ to have anymore. We almost didn't have William."

Shawn nodded. "Give it a few years. Not like you have to turn around and have another one right away. In fact, it's better it you don't. You can enjoy William more." Gus raised his eyebrow questioningly, and Shawn added hastily, "Not that I didn't enjoy Michael or Hannah. It was just hard, getting used to being a father with Jamie. Jamie was my boy, and then I had Michael, and after Michael it was Hannah—and Hannah required a lot of care and attention, not that Michael didn't, but a lot more, and it just seemed like each preceding child got lost in the shuffle." He paused staring out at the sea across the bike path. "I always wished I had more time with them. And now that I'm working at West Coast Foods, it seems like I have less time than when I was working for the DEA. I don't know," he sighed. "But I wouldn't change any them. All three-four, soon to be, I guess. They're my munchkins, and my monsters. They're my family. I need them.

"Well, I guess I had better rescue Michael. His time has been served."

"Maybe things will ease up at your new job; allow you more time with the kids," Gus interjected hastily, moved by Shawn's apparent confidence.

Shawn paused at the sliding door, hands on the doorjamb.

"I'm going back to work for the DEA," he said, and disappeared inside once more.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"He's doing what?!"

"He's going back to work for the DEA," Gus repeated.

"I heard you, I just didn't believe it."

Silence ensued, broken occasionally by the clinking of the ice in their glasses. "You think he's doing this to avoid us?" Gus finally asked.

Henry snorted. "I think he's doing this because he doesn't know how to do anything else. And he's miserable right now. He was happy at the DEA."

"He was?"

"Yeah. He was. He had a purpose; his life had meaning. He was helping people; keeping the streets clean."

"Are we talking about Shawn or you?" Gus interjected.

Henry smiled wryly. "He is his father's son," he murmured quietly, with another sip of his iced tea.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Shawn."

"Charlie."

"I'm glad you reconsidered my offer."

"Yeah, well," Shawn began, looking away. "I couldn't just walk away. I tried, though, I really did."

"I'm glad you're back," Charlie offered sincerely.

"I haven't agreed to anything yet. Let's talk about this job."

"The teaching position? Sure," Charlie gestured for Shawn to precede him and he followed both leisurely taking in the University of California at Santa Barbara campus.

"You would teach two classes a week here, plus a seminar at UCLA four times a year for agents with varying subject matter, but all focused on training or retraining of DEA agents. The rest of the time you would still be tasked to the DEA, researching and developing leads on cases."

"Developing leads? Infiltrating?"

"No, not so much. Not to the extent you are used to," Charlie amended. "You're good at solving cases, Spencer. You've got great instincts, and a hell of a criminal mind. I can't let that go to waste. You'll support other task forces, but you will no longer be front runner on such cases. You'll take a back burner approach to your duties as a special agent."

"Right. And how long do you think that will last?" Shawn scoffed.

"About as long as it takes you to tire of it and get back into the game."

Shawn stopped abruptly. "It's entirely up to you, Spencer. You're damn good at what you do. I want you to train others how to do it. If-when-you want to reclaim your duties in infiltration, I'll be the first to let you."

"I want out. Of that. I can't do that. Not with Jules. Not with the baby. My kids," he whispered.

"I understand. Since you never officially left the DEA, at least, according to me, you'll retain your salary. However, due to your current "leave" the time available for you to be off once the new baby comes will be limited. You will be geographically closer, since we'll base you out of Santa Barbara."

Charlie slowed his stroll and faced Shawn. "It's good to have you back, Spencer."

"I haven't officially agreed to come back, Charlie," Shawn argued.

Charlie smiled. "See you Monday. First class is 8:00 sharp."

"In the morning?!" Shawn called to the retreating form. Charlie smiled again. "You just did that to be cruel!"

"Welcome back."

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	20. Epilogue

_AN: Yes kiddies, it is the end. Thank you all for your reviews, and for adding this story to your favorite alerts and me to your author alerts. I can't believe I started this six months ago, but I am glad to bring it to a close. I hope you've all enjoyed it._

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_Three months later…_

"Breathe, it's okay, breathe, just breathe Jules. Remember our classes? _Hoo-hoo-hee! Hoo-hoo-hee! _Follow my lead, Jules."

"Ugh! Shawn!"

"It's okay, Jules. Just follow my breathing." Juliet tried to emulate Shawn's example, puffing her cheeks in exaggerated breaths, before groaning and clutching her abdomen.

"Keep breathing," Shawn reminded, bending down with her.

"Ooooooo-oh, shut up Shawn!" Juliet replied in a tight voice.

"Okay," Shawn agreed. "_Hoo-hoo-hee! Hoo-hoo-hee!_"

"Mrs. Spencer? You're ten centimeters dilated. Get ready to push."

Juliet nodded. "What about your dad?"

"What about him?" Shawn asked with a disbelieving note to his voice.

"He wanted to be here," Juliet managed between breaths.

"He's here in the lobby, Jules, with the kids. Any closer and he's liable to scare the baby back in. I know you don't want that."

Juliet shook her head, no definitely not. This baby was coming out now--no way was she going to go through another day of swollen ankles, sore back, frequent urination and uncomfortable rest while her husband snoozed blissfully beside her at night. Or at least he did until she kicked him.

"On the next contraction get ready to push," the doctor directed. Jules' panting intensified.

"I love you," she said, placing her palm against Shawn's face before fisting it into the hospital bed sheets. The other hand was firmly wrapped around her husband's.

"I'll keep that in mind while you're breaking my hand declaring that you'll never let me near you ever again," Shawn returned wryly and winced at the sudden pressure against his fingers. "And so it begins," he managed, before his wife cracked his fingers against one another.

"We never decided on a name," Juliet lamented when she finished with the first push.

"How about Xavier?"

Jules flashed him a dirty look before cracking his bones again with her second contraction.

"OoooOH-kay, not Xavier," Shawn agreed, wishing he could pull his fingers away from Juliet just long enough to shake some feeling back into them.

"Your dad suggested Anthony."

"Anthony?" Shawn repeated with no small amount of disdain.

"Or Austin."

"Didn't I—aaaaahhh!!—already mention my father was not to be trusted with naming the baby, Jules? OW!"

"OW?" Juliet repeated darkly.

"That hurts," Shawn defended.

"Excuse me?! I'm having a baby here! YOUR baby, you jackass!"

"And I appreciate that Jules, really." Shawn returned, placating.

"You are never—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!—touching me again, Shawn. This is the last time. Remember it--aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhh--fondly."

"One more," the doctor informed them. "One big push. One more time. Then you'll have your baby."

"You hear that Jules? You're almost there."

"Oh god, are you kidding me. I was there four hours ago! Where were you people?"

"You can do it. Come on, big push."

"I hate you," Juliet replied but summoned the energy from somewhere. Judging by the life flow bleeding out of his fingers, he suspected it might be from him.

Moments later Juliet's efforts were rewarded with an ear piercing shriek, which elicited a fatigued laugh from Juliet and a smile from Shawn.

"It's a boy," the nurse announced unnecessarily as she showed the squirming bundle to Shawn. They tied off the umbilical cord, and Shawn cut it with shaky hands before returning to Juliet's side. Moments later the newest member of the Spencer clan was placed in his mother's arms.

"He's beautiful, Jules," Shawn said, placing a kiss on her forehead. "He looks like you."

"We still need a name."

"What about Joaquin? I like Joaquin. Or Jose?"

"No," Juliet replied wrinkling her nose. "He's not a Jose, are you?" she cooed, delicately tracing a soft cheek.

"Well, he's definitely not an Anthony," Shawn returned. "Or a Brian. Or a Brandon."

"You're right. He's not," Juliet agreed. "He's an...Austin."

"What? No Jules," but even as he said it his mind was already turning it over in his head. _Austin Spencer_.

"No, no, no, no. If we use a name my dad gave us we'll never hear the end of it, Jules."

"It's not like your dad has the monopoly on the name Austin, Shawn."

"You don't understand, Jules. I mean, first Jamie, and now this..."

But Juliet wasn't listening. She was uttering random names, sandwiched in between _Austin_ and _Spencer_, trying to find that magical fit that would embody the tiny being cradled in her arms.

When the nurse came for Aus--the baby, Shawn mentally corrected, she was still chanting away, trying to find the perfect middle name. Shawn had already shot down Finn, Phinneas, and any other incarnation of that name, but already his mind was wrapping its way around another one.

"10 fingers, 10 toes, head full of black hair, and beautiful--looks just like Jules. All 21 inches and nine pounds two ounces of him," Shawn announced to the party that had gathered in the waiting room.

Henry erupted into a wide grin and stood up, Gus joining him as they clapped him loudly on the back.

"Congratulations, son!"

"Congratulations, Spencer," Lassiter remarked gruffly, peeling Hannah off his leg to shake Shawn's hand.

"Did mommy have the baby?" Michael asked.

"Yup, mommy had the baby?"

"So what did you name it?" Gus asked.

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"Austin Langley Spencer? What the hell kind of name is that, Spencer?"

"Langley?"

"It's a family name," Shawn defended, avoiding said member's eyes. He could feel them boring into him, anyway. And that smirk--yeah, definitely could feel that. Was it possible to even _hear_ a smirk? Did a smirk have a sort of--laugh? Like a snort?

"Who in your family was blessed with that moniker?" Gus asked.

"I was."

Three heads looked at Henry.

"Well, what did you think the _L _stood for?"

"Langley?" Gus repeated.

"It was my mother's maiden name," Henry defended.

"It's perfect," Juliet announced, and all attention returned to the tiny wonder bundled in her arms.

_Yes,_ Shawn thought looking around the room, _it is._

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So I can't resist being a little sappy. It's like a disease--don't catch it!

Reviews, even at the end, _especially _at the end, still make my day!

:)


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